THE    DIARY 
FRESHMAN 


a 


By 

CHARLES     MACOMB    FLANDRAU 

Author     of     "Harvard     Episodes" 


D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON:   MCMXII 


Copyright,     J9OO ,     by 
The    Curtis     Publishing    Co. 

Copyright,     1  9O  1 ,     by 
Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 

Copyright.     1912.     by 
D.    Appleton    and    Company 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMEBICA 


fs 

3 

F  t 


TO 

"For  Ever  Panting  and  For  Ever  Young." 


COURTEOUS  acknowledgment  is  here 
made   to  the   Saturday  Evening 
Post,  Philadelphia,  in  which  these 
papers  first  saw  the  light. 


THE 

DIARY  of  a  FRESHMAN 

I 

MAMMA  left  for  home  this  after 
noon.  As  I  want  to  be  perfectly 
truthful  in  my  diary,  I  suppose  I 
must  confess  that  before  she  act 
ually  went  away  I  sometimes  thought  I  should 
be  rather  relieved  when  she  was  no  longer  here. 
Mamma  has  a  fixed  idea  that  I  came  to  college 
for  the  express  purpose  of  getting  my  feet  wet 
by  day,  and  sleeping  in  a  draught  by  night. 
She  began  the  furnishing  of  my  rooms  by  invest 
ing  in  a  pair  of  rubber  boots,  —  the  kind  you 
tie  around  your  waist  with  a  string.  The  clerk 
in  the  shop  asked  her  if  1  was  fond  of  trout- 
fishing,  and  she  explained  to  him  that  I  had 
always  lived  in  the  West  where  the  climate 
was  dry,  and  that  she  did  n't  know  how  I  would 
stand  the  dampness  of  the  seacoast.  Mamma 
thought  the  clerk  was  so  interested  in  my  last 
attack  of  tonsillitis  I  did  n't  have  the  heart  to 
tell  her  that  all  the  time  he  was  looking  sym 
pathetic  with  his  right  eye,  he  was  winking  at 
me  with  his  left. 

Now  that  she  is  gone,  however,  I  don't  see 
how  I  could  have  thought,  even  for  a  moment, 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

that  I  should  be  glad,  and  I  've  been  sitting 
here  for  an  hour  just  looking  at  my  room  and 
all  the  nice  things  she  advised  rne  about  and 
helped  me  to  choose  —  wishing  she  could  see 
how  cosey  it  is  late  at  night  with  the  green 
lamp  lighted  and  a  little  fire  going.  (It  isn't 
really  cool  enough  for  a  fire  ;  I  had  to  take 
my  coat  off  for  a  while,  the  room  got  so  warm 
—  but  I  was  anxious  to  know  how  the  andirons 
looked  with  a  blaze  behind  them.)  I  suppose 
she  is  lying  awake  in  the  sleeping-car  thinking 
of  me.  She  made  me  move  my  bed  to  the 
other  side  of  the  room,  so  that  it  would  n't  be 
near  the  window.  I  moved  it  back  again  ;  but 
I  think  now  I  '11  change  it  again  to  the  way  she 
liked  it. 

Of  course  I  was  disappointed  last  May  when 
I  found  I  had  n't  drawn  a  room  in  one  of  the 
college  buildings.  I  had  an  idea  that  if  you 
did  n't  live  in  one  of  the  buildings  owned  by 
the  college  you  would  n't  feel,  somehow,  as  if 
you  "  belonged."  Before  I  arrived  in  Cam 
bridge  I  worried  a  good  deal  over  it.  The 
old  Harvard  men  at  home  were  most  unsatis 
factory  about  this  when  I  asked  their  advice. 
The  ones  who  had  lived  in  the  Yard  when 
they  were  in  college  seemed  to  think  there 
was  n't  any  particular  use  in  going  to  college 

10 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

at  all  unless  you  could  live  either  in  their  old 
rooms  or  some  in  the  same  building  ;  and  the 
ones  who  had  lived  outside  as  I  am  going  to 
do  (this  year,  anyhow)  said  the  college  build 
ings  were  nice  enough  in  their  way,  but  if 
I  could  only  get  the  dear  old  place  (which 
was  pulled  down  fifteen  years  ago)  where 
James  Russell  Lowell  had  scratched  his 
name  on  the  window-pane,  and  where  some 
body  else  (I  've  forgotten  who  it  was)  crawled 
up  the  big  chimney  when  the  sheriff  came  to 
arrest  him  for  debt  and  was  discovered  be 
cause  he  did  not  crawl  far  enough,  I  should 
be  all  right. 

I  don't  see  how  the  good  times  and  the 
advantages  of  a  place  like  this  hold  out  for 
so  long  ;  everybody  who  has  been  here  speaks 
as  if  he  had  about  used  them  up. 

Well,  we  found  rooms  pleading  to  be 
rented  ;  every  other  house  in  Cambridge  has 
a  "  Student's  Room  to  Let "  card  in  the 
window.  Even  some  of  the  rooms  in  the 
Yard  had  been  given  up  at  the  last  minute 
by  fellows  who  flunked  their  exams.  Mamma 
said  she  felt  very  sorry  for  the  poor  boys  ;  and 
after  that  the  enormity  of  my  having  been 
conditioned  in  physics  and  solid  geometry  de 
creased  considerably.  The  trouble  (there 

ii 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

were  four  days  full  of  it)  wasn't  in  finding 
a  good  place,  but  in  trying  to  decide  on  some 
one  place.  For  a  while  it  looked  as  though 
I  should  either  have  to  live  in  five  separate 
houses  —  some  of  them  over  a  mile  apart  — 
or  give  up  going  to  college.  We  dragged 
up  and  down  all  the  quiet  side  streets  within 
a  reasonable  distance  of  the  Yard,  ringing 
bells  and  asking  questions  until  the  words 
"  I  should  like  to  look  at  "  and  "  What  is 
the  price  of?  "  began  to  sound  like  some  kind 
of  a  silly  English  Meisterschaft  system. 
Several  times  when  we  were  very  tired  we 
wandered  by  mistake  into  houses  we  had  been 
to  before.  This  made  the  landladies  exceed 
ingly  peevish  ;  but  mamma  said  it  was  just 
as  well,  because  now  we  knew  what  their  true 
characters  really  were. 

We  found  that  we  could  rent  some  of  the 
rooms  lighted  and  heated  ;  but  most  of  them 
were  merely  "  lit  and  het." 

All  the  houses  in  Cambridge  and  many  of 
the  buildings  in  the  Yard  seemed  to  be  dis 
gorging  roomfuls  of  old  furniture  and  consum 
ing  cartloads  of  new,  and  everywhere  we  went 
we  met  strings  of  cheerful,  energetic  mothers 
with  tired,  rather  cross-looking  sons.  I've 
seen  only  one  fellow  with  his  father  so  far, 

12 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

and   they  sort  of  apologized  for   the  fact    by 
being  dressed  in  deep  mourning. 

At  the  end  of  three  days  we  'd  picked  out 
five  rooms.  Considered  in  a  lump,  they 
seemed  fine  ;  but  tackling  them  separately, 
mamma  could  n't  decide  which  one  was  least 
objectionable.  One  was  in  a  part  of  town 
that  "looked  damp" — a  man  across  the 
street  unfortunately  sneezed  just  as  we  were 
passing  a  stone  wall  covered  with  green  moss. 
The  second  smelt  of  cooking.  On  the  steps 
of  the  third  a  groceryman  was  waiting  to 
deliver  several  gallons  of  gasoline  (this  one 
was  almost  struck  off  the  list).  The  fourth 
was  near  the  river  (we  had  the  bad  luck  to  be 
in  that  part  of  town  when  the  tide  was  out), 
and  from  the  windows  of  the  fifth  there  was  a 
merry  little  view  of  a  graveyard.  We  simply 
could  n't  make  up  our  minds,  and  were  stand 
ing  in  the  middle  of  a  narrow,  rather  shabby 
little  street  two  or  three  blocks  below  the 
Square  discussing  the  matter,  when  a  door 
behind  us  opened  and  a  mother  and  son  (we 
turned  to  look)  came  out,  followed  by  a  gray- 
haired  woman  —  evidently  the  landlady  —  who 
was  doing  the  talking,  in  a  very  New  England 
voice,  for  all  three.  The  mother  was  slim 
and  pretty,  and  had  on  a  beautiful  dress  that 

13 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

went  swish-swash-swish  when  she  walked 
away,  and  the  fellow  looked  like  her,  he  was 
very  handsome. 

"  Well,  I  'm  real  glad  to  know  you,"  the 
landlady  said  to  the  fellow's  mother.  "Jus' 
seems  'sif  I  could  n't  rest  till  I  knew  the 
young  men's  folks ;  dustin'  their  photographs 
every  day  makes  it  sort  of  different.  It  do  — 
don't  it  ?  Oh,  yes  —  I  '11  take  care  of  him. 
They  get  real  mad  at  me,  the  young  men  do, 
sometimes,  for  makin'  them  change  their  shoes 
when  it 's  snow-in'  and  makin'  them  wear  their 
rubber  coats  when  it 's  rai-nin'.  They  're  in 
too  much  of  a  hurry,  they  are.  That 's  what 's 
the  matter  with  them."  She  gave  the  fellow 
a  roguish  look,  and  he  and  his  mother  walked 
up  the  street  laughing  as  if  they  were  very 
much  pleased. 

"  I  think,"  said  mamma  (who  had  become 
strangely  animated  on  hearing  of  the  change 
of  shoes)  —  "I  think  that  before  we  decide  on 
one  of  these  five  rooms  we  '11  go  in  there."  So 
we  went  up  to  the  gray-haired  woman,  who 
had  lingered  outside  to  talk  baby  talk  to  a  cat 
that  was  making  gothic  arches  of  itself  all 
over  the  piazza,  and  in  about  seven  minutes 
by  the  watch  we  'd  signed  the  lease  of  the  last 
vacant  rooms  in  the  house. 

14 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

A  short,  steep  staircase  like  the  companion- 
way  of  a  ship  leads  up  to  a  landing  about  the 
size  of  a  kitchen  table.  The  edges  of  the  steps 
are  covered  with  tin  and  are  terribly  slippery. 
The  door  on  the  left  opens  into  my  study,  and 
at  the  end  of  that  is  my  bedroom,  and  next  to 
that  is  a  great  big  bathroom  (it 's  bigger  than 
the  other  two)  with  a  porcelain  tub  and  a 
shower  which  I  am  to  share  with  the  fellow 
who  lives  just  across  the  staircase  on  the  right. 
Mrs.  Chester,  the  landlady,  says :  "  All 
the  young  men  thinks  an  awful  lot  of  that 
bathroom." 

The  study  is  so  small  that  we  did  n't  have 
to  buy  as  much  furniture  as  we  expected  to. 
I  have  an  oak  desk  with  a  rolling  top  that 
makes  a  noise  like  some  one  shovelling  coal 
when  you  open  and  shut  it,  and  usually  sticks 
half-way.  Of  course,  when  we  finally  got  it 
out  from  town  (Boston  is  about  four  miles 
from  Cambridge,  and  it  takes  anywhere  from 
ihree  days  to  a  week  for  an  express  wagon  to 
make  the  trip),  we  found  that  it  was  much  too 
large  to  go  up  the  staircase.  But  Mrs. 
Chester  said  we  could  take  out  the  back  of 
the  house  and  have  it  swung  up  to  the  room 
on  ropes — the  "  young  men"  always  did  that 
when  they  wanted  pianos  or  sofas,  or  desks 

15 


like  mine.  I  was  n't  present  at  the  operation, 
as  I  had  to  go  in  town  to  lunch  with  mamma, 
but  it  was  successfully  performed  (by  "  a  real 
handy  gentleman  from  down  Gloucester  way, 
who  used  to  be  a  fisherman  and  is  a  carpenter 
now  "),  for  I  found  the  desk  in  the  room  when 
I  returned  and  the  walls  of  the  house  looked 
about  the  same. 

Besides  the  desk  I  have  an  oak  chair  with 
a  back  that  lets  up  and  down  by  means  of  a 
brass  rod ;  its  cushions  are  covered  with  gray 
corduroy.  Then  there  is  another  chair,  a  re 
volving  one  (very  painful),  that  goes  with  the 
desk.  We  bought  a  bookcase  at  a  shop  just 
off  the  Square,  from  an  odious  little  man 
who  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  and  said 
to  mamma,  "  They  will  grow  up,  won't 
they?"  It  looks  rather  bare,  as  there  aren't 
any  books  in  it  yet ;  but  mamma  would  n't 
let  me  fill  it,  although  right  next  door  to  the 
place  where  we  bought  it  there  were  loads 
of  books  in  the  window  for  five  and  ten  cents 
apiece. 

We  got  some  Turkish  rugs  at  an  auction  in 
town.  The  man  said  they  never  would  wear 
out.  When  they  arrived  here  and  I  saw  them 
for  the  first  time  by  daylight  (they  had  gas  at 
the  sale)  I  knew  what  he  meant.  However, 

16 


THE    DIARY   OF  A   FRESHMAN 

mamma  darned  them  very  nicely,  and  as  every 
thing  else  looks  so  new,  perhaps  it 's  just  as 
well. 

I  've  put  the  photographs  of  mamma  and 
papa,  and  the  one  of  Mildred  in  the  ball  dress 
and  big  hat  with  white  ostrich  feathers,  and 
the  one  of  Sidney  in  his  little  cart  with  the 
two  goats,  on  the  mantelpiece.  I  'm  afraid  I 
never  cared  much  for  the  goats  when  I  was  at 
home,  but  to-night  I  've  been  thinking  of  all 
the  funny  things  they  used  to  do  and  wonder 
ing  if  I  '11  ever  see  them  again.  They  're 
such  cute  little  beasts.  Over  the  mantelpiece 
I  have  two  crimson  flags  with  the  sticks 
crossed. 

This  evening  while  I  was  sitting  in  front  of 
the  fire  trying  to  decide  whether  I  ought  to 
begin  my  diary  now  or  wait  until  college 
opened  to-morrow  and  things  began  to  happen, 
the  door  downstairs  suddenly  rattled  and 
slammed,  and  some  one  came  clattering  up  the 
tin  steps  at  a  great  rate.  Then  the  door  across 
the  landing  was  unlocked,  and  I  heard  whoever 
it  was  falling  over  chairs  and  upsetting  things  in 
the  dark  ;  and  all  the  time  he  kept  roaring  at 
the  top  of  his  voice  :  "  Oh,  Mrs.  Chester  ! 
Ay-y-y-y-y,  Mrs.  Chester,  where  are  you?' 
Mrs.  Chester  had  told  me  a  few  minutes 

»  17 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

before  that  she  was  "  just  goin'  to  step  up 
street  to  see  how  Mis'  Buckson  's  comin' 
along  with  them  rooms  o'  hers,"  so  I  called 
out  that  she  was  n't  at  home.  Then  the  voice 
answered,  "  Oh,  thank  you ;  "  and  after  a 
few  more  things  in  the  other  room  had  fallen 
on  the  floor  and  smashed,  the  fellow  who  was 
making  all  the  fuss  came  across  and  stood  in 
my  doorway. 

I  thought  for  a  second  that  the  reason  he 
did  n't  come  in  was  that  he  was  so  big  he 
couldn't.  I  knew  that  the  ceilings  of  the 
house  were  low  and  that  my  study  was  n't 
very  large,  but  I  had  n't  realized  before  how 
small  it  all  was.  The  fellow  blocked  up  the 
whole  doorway  ;  his  shoulders,  in  a  loose, 
shaggy  gray  coat,  stretched  clear  across. 
His  face  was  burned  a  deep  brown,  and  his 
hair  was  very  black  and  looked  rather  long,  as 
it  evidently  had  n't  been  brushed  for  a  good 
while,  and  he  wanted  to  know  if  I  could  let 
him  have  a  match.  I  could  see  that  he  was 
taking  in  my  room  as  he  stood  there,  and  I 
think  he  smiled  a  little  at  something  ;  but 
then  he  seemed  to  be  smiling  anyhow  (in  a 
different  way),  so  I  was  n't  sure.  I  jumped 
up  and  got  him  a  box  of  matches  (somehow  I 
knew  at  once  that  he  was  n't  the  other  Fresh- 


man  who  has  rooms  in  the  house,  although  1 
can't  think  why,  as  he  did  n't  look  old),  and  he 
thanked  me,  saying  he  was  sorry  to  trouble 
me,  and  went  back  to  his  room. 

I  felt  sort  of  excited  and  restless  after  that, 
and  thought  I  would  sit  down  and  write 
mamma  all  about  him ;  but  just  as  I  was 
beginning  to  he  stopped  humming  (I  don't 
think  he  can  be  a  member  of  the  Glee  Club, 
as  he  only  struck  the  right  note  once  by  acci 
dent  ;  still  I  knew  perfectly  well  what  he  was 
trying  to  sing)  and  began  to  laugh.  Then  he 
came  over  to  my  door  again  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets  and  said,  — 

"  You  did  n't  happen  to  see  an  iron  bedstead 
lying  around  the  streets  anywhere,  did  you? 
The  good  Chester  has  evidently  spent  the  last 
three  months  in  putting  my  rooms  in  order  and 
I  can't  find  a  thing."  I  told  him  I  had  seen 
a  bed  in  the  back  yard  this  afternoon,  but  that 
I  did  n't  think  it  could  be  his.  He  asked  me 
very  seriously  why  not.  And  then  all  at  once 
I  got  horribly  rattled.  I  didn't  like  to  tell 
him  that  the  bed  hadn't  looked  nearly  big 
enough  for  him  (it  was  a  little  narrow  thing), 
for  I  was  afraid  he  might  think  me  fresh. 
Then  besides,  I  found  that  I  had  instinctively 
stood  up  when  I  saw  him,  and  as  there  wasn't 

19 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

any  particular  reason  why  I  should  have  done 
this,  I  got  sort  of  confused. 

"  Of  course  it 's  a  very  nice  little  bed,"  I 
hastened  to  add.  Whereupon  he  burst  out 
laughing  with  a  loud  whoop. 

"If  it  's  such  a  nice  one  it  certainly  can't 
be  mine,  and  I  'd  better  go  down  and  swipe 
it  right  away,"  he  said  at  last,  and  clattered 
downstairs.  I  tried  again  to  write  to  mamma, 
but  he  made  such  a  noise  coming  upstairs  with 
pieces  of  bed  and  running  down  again  that  I 
could  n't  fix  my  mind.  Then,  too,  I  kept 
wondering  whether  I  ought  to  offer  to  help 
him.  Finally  I  went  out  as  he  was  coming 
up  with  a  mattress  on  his  shoulder  and  asked, 
"Was  it  your  bed,  after  all?"  which  made 
him  laugh  again  and  say :  "  I  would  n't  tell 
you  for  anything  in  the  world.  If  you  are  n't 
too  busy,  though,  I  wish  you  would  help  me 
put  the  beastly  thing  together." 

We  tried  for  about  half  an  hour  to  make 
the  bed  stand  up.  It  looked  simple  enough, 
but  whenever  we  got  the  sides  firm  and  more 
or  less  parallel,  the  back  and  front  would 
wobble  and  fall  to  the  floor.  Once  we  had 
all  four  pieces  standing  beautifully,  but  just 
as  we  put  on  the  woven  wire  business  and  Mr. 
Duggie  (that 's  what  Mrs.  Chester  calls  him 

20 


THE    DIARY   OF   A   FRESHMAN 

—  I  don't  think  it 's  his  real  name,  though) 
exclaimed,  "  I  have  the  honor  to  report, 
sir,  that  the  allied  forces  have  taken  New 
Bedford,"  the  whole  thing  collapsed  and 
pinched  his  finger  fearfully  as  it  came  down. 
After  that  we  sat  on  the  floor  awhile.  He 
smoked  a  pipe  and  glanced  meditatively  at  the 
ruins  of  the  bed  every  now  and  then,  and  at 
last  turned  to  me  and  said,  "  Is  this  your 
first  year  here?"  I  didn't  let  him  see  how 
pleased  I  was  that  he  had  not  discovered 
I  was  a  Freshman,  and  merely  answered, 
"  Yes." 

We  talked  a  long  time  —  about  all  kinds  of 
things.  I  asked  him  a  string  of  questions  that 
had  been  on  my  mind  for  months :  whether  it 
is  better  to  live  in  a  private  house,  one  of  the 
big  private  halls,  or  in  the  Yard  (I  called  it 
the  "  Campus,"  and  he  looked  queer  for  a 
moment  and  said  it  was  known  as  the  Yard 
here)  ;  where  would  be  a  good  place  to  eat ; 
whether  he  thought  my  allowance  was  big 
enough  (I  told  him  how  much  I  was  going  to 
have)  ;  and  what  was  the  best  way  to  make 
friends  and  get  on  teams  and  clubs  and  musi 
cal  societies  and  crews  and  papers.  He  an 
swered  everything,  although  once  or  twice  he 
puffed  at  his  pipe  and  looked  at  me  a  good 

21 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


while  before  speaking.  I  could  n't  tell  whether 
the  questions  hadn't  occurred  to  him  before, 
or  whether  he  didn't  know  just  what  to  tell 
me.  Of  course  I  can't  remember  all  he  said, 
but  it  sounded  so  important  that  afterward  I 
scribbled  as  much  of  it  as  I  could  in  a  note 
book. 

BOOMS  IN  THE  YARD 

ADVANTAGES 

General  Washington  may  have  stabled  his 
horse  (the  iron-gray  that  never  put  his  front 
feet  to  the  ground  in  the  presence  of  an  artist) 
in  your  bedroom. 

When  girls  come  out  to  vespers  (Thursdays 
from  November  to  May)  and  stop  to  look  at 
the  Yard,  you  can  stop  whatever  you  happen 
to  be  doing  and  look  at  them. 

In  May  and  June  the  morning  and  evening 
views  from  your  windows  are  different  from 
and  more  beautiful  than  anything  in  the  world. 

The  Glee  Club  (weather  permitting)  sings 
under  the  trees  ;  you  lie  on  your  window-seat 
in  the  twilight  and  wonder  whether,  after 
graduating,  you  will  accept  Fame  or  Fortune. 

Proximity  to  lectures  during  the  annual  in 
undations  of  December,  January,  February, 
March,  and  April. 

22 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

DISADVANTAGES 

Too  much  effort  involved  in  taking  a  bath. 
What  ought  to  be  an  innocent  pleasure  be 
comes  a  morbid  family  pride. 

Accessibility  to  bores  who  want  to  kill  time 
while  waiting  for  their  next  lecture.  At  first 
you  think  this  is  Popularity. 

Enforced  quiet  after  9  P.M.  —  at  which  hour 
you  usually  close  your  books  and  feel  like 
making  a  noise. 

Enforced  activity  before  9  A.M.  —  until 
which  hour  you  always  close  your  eyes  and 
try  not  to  feel  at  all. 

Necessity  of  burning  a  kind  of  coal  that  re 
fuses  to  light  (or  to  stay  lighted)  for  anybody 
but  the  janitor,  who  is  never  in  the  basement, 
where  you  always  firmly  believe  (in  spite  of 
your  daily  failure)  that  you  are  going  to  find 
him. 

BOARD 

Mrs.  Muldooney's  is  by  all  means  the  most 
desirable  place.  It  is  crowded,  hot,  noisy, 
expensive,  and  not  particularly  nourishing. 
Mrs.  Muldooney  is  a  tall,  grim,  steel-armored 
old  cruiser  of  sixty-five,  with  dark-blue  hair, 
who  doles  out  eleven  canned  cherries  to  every 
man  at  luncheon  and  sends  in  word  from  the 
kitchen  that  there  are  n't  any  more.  She  tries 

23 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

to  collect  twenty-five  cents  when  you  have  a 
guest ;  but  as  you  promptly  disown  your  guest, 
she  is  usually  foiled.  Her  place,  however,  is 
always  crowded  with  Freshmen,  and  I  ought 
to  go  there. 

AULOWANCE 

My  allowance  is  generous.  It  ought  to 
satisfy  my  every  need ;  but  it  won't. 

TEAMS,   CREWS,   SOCIETIES,   PAPERS 

Try  enthusiastically  but  not  too  seriously  to 
take  part  in  everything.  In  this  way  you  find 
out  what  kind  of  amusement  really  amuses 
you  —  which  as  you  grow  older  is  a  source  of 
great  content. 

FRIENDS 

Friends,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  are 
divine  accidents  beyond  all  human  control. 
You  will  probably  meet  with  four  or  five  such 
accidents  in  your  college  career.  For  the  rest 
—  be  polite  to  everybody,  and  you  will  soon 
have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  your 
position,  both  in  the  University  and  in  the 
world,  is,  at  least,  unique. 

CLUBS 

Vide  supra,  under  "  Friends." 

I  was  just  going  to  ask  him  something  else, 
when  we  heard  Mrs.  Chester  exclaiming,  — 

24 


"  Land  sakes,  if  it  ain't  Mr.  Duggie !  I 
saw  the  light  from  Mis'  Buckson's  parlor." 

"  Hello,  you  dear  old  buzzard  !  How  dare 
you  turn  me  out  in  the  cold  this  way?"  he 
called  to  her  ;  and  as  she  came  in,  he  jumped 
up  and  took  both  her  hands.  "  I  'm  so  glad 
to  see  you  again."  She  gave  him  a  little 
push,  and  looked  pleased. 

"Law,  Mr.  Duggie  —  how  you  talk!  He's 
got  real  fleshy  —  ain't  he?"  she  added,  look 
ing  at  me.  She  asked  him  where  he  'd  been 
all  summer,  and  he  told  her  he  'd  been  off 
shooting  in  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  had 
brought  her  a  breastpin  made  of  an  elk's  tooth 
that  she  'd  have  to  wear  on  Sundays  when  she 
went  to  see  her  married  daughter  in  Somer- 
ville.  I  thought  I  ought  to  leave,  but  did  not 
know  how  to  interrupt  them  exactly ;  so  I 
turned  and  examined  some  silver  cups  on  the 
mantelpiece.  There  were  five  beauties,  but  I 
could  n't  make  out  the  inscriptions  on  them. 

"  You  've  had  lots  of  visitors  the  last  few 
days.  They  kept  a-comin'  to  find  out  when 
you  '11  be  back.  The  Dean  was  here  to-day — 
a  real  sociable  gentleman,  are  n't  he  ?  —  and 
he  wants  you  to  go  right  'round  and  see  him 
as  soon  as  you  can.  And  yesterday  that  little 
man  —  I  forget  his  name  —  oh,  you  know,  he's 

25 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

the  President  of  the  Crimson  —  came  to  find 
out  about  something.  He  said  you  were  the 
only  one  who  could  tell  him.  And  then 
there  've  been  lots  of  young  men  to  see  about 
the  football  —  oh,  my,  just  crowds  of  them, 
and  they  all  left  notes.  I  '11  run  down  and 
get  them,  and  then  I  '11  put  up  your  bed." 

After  she  left,  I  said  good-night.  It 's 
awfully  late,  and  I  have  to  get  up  early,  to  be 
in  time  to  register. 

I  wonder  who  he  is.  I  hope  he  did  n't  think 
I  was  fresh.  I  don't  believe  he  did,  though, 
for  as  I  was  going  he  said,  — 

"  We  're  such  near  neighbors,  you  must 
drop  in  when  you  haven't  anything  better 
to  do." 

Mamma's  train  must  have  passed  Utica  by 
this  time 


26 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


n 

WELL,  I  've  learned  a  lot  of  things 
during  the  past  week,  that  are  n't 
advertised  in  the  catalogue.  If 
I  've  neglected  to  make  a  note  of 
them  until  now,  it  has  been  my  misfortune, 
and  not  my  fault. 

We  registered  on  Wednesday  morning  — 
Freshmen  have  to  register  the  day  before  col 
lege  really  opens  —  and  I  confess  I  was  a 
little  disappointed  at  the  informal  way  such 
an  important  act  of  one's  life  is  done.  In  the 
first  place,  as  you  can  drop  in  any  time  be 
tween  nine  A.M.  and  one  P.M.,  you  don't  see 
the  whole  class  together.  Then  the  room 
we  registered  in  might  have  been  in  the  High 
School  at  home.  I  don't  know  what  I  ex 
pected  exactly,  but  it  certainly  was  n't  a  bare, 
square  room,  a  desk  on  a  low  platform,  some 
plaster  casts,  and  a  lot  of  plain  wooden  chairs 
arranged  in  rows  on  an  inclined  plane.  How 
ever,  when  I  think  the  matter  over,  I  don't 
see  what  else  they  could  have. 

A  dissatisfied-looking  little  man  with  a  red 
necktie  sat  reading  a  newspaper  at  the  desk 
when  I  went  in,  and  near  him  —  reading  a 

27 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

book  —  was  a  younger  fellow  who  looked  as 
if  he  might  be  a  student.  There  were  piles  of 
registration  cards  on  the  desk,  and  after  I  had 
stood  there  a  moment,  not  knowing  what  to 
do,  the  little  man  looked  up  absently  from  his 
paper,  handed  me  some  cards  with  a  feeble 
sort  of  gesture,  and  murmured  in  a  melan 
choly,  slightly  trembling,  and  very  sarcastic 
voice,  — 

"...  This  gentleman  is  come  to  me 
With  commendation  from  great  potentates, 
And  here  he  means  to  spend  his  time  awhile." 

Then  he  yawned,  and  took  up  the  paper  again. 
The  young' man,  without  apparently  thinking 
this  remark  in  the  least  odd,  closed  his  book 
on  his  thumb  so  as  not  to  lose  the  place,  and 
gave  me  another  card,  saying  in  a  perfectly 
businesslike  voice,  — 

"  Please  fill  this  one  out,  too."  I  sat  down 
at  a  bench  to  write,  and  just  then  five  or  six 
other  fellows  came  in.  One  of  them  was  the 
good-looking  chap  (with  the  pretty  mother) 
who  rooms  in  the  same  house  with  me.  I 
hadn't  seen  him  since  the  day  I  signed  my 
lease.  I  listened  to  hear  if  the  little  man  at 
the  desk  would  spring  anything  weird  on  them  ; 
but  as  they  went  right  up  to  him,  and  took 
cards  as  if  they  knew  all  about  it,  and  re- 

28 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

treated  to  the  back  of  the  room,  he  didn't 
have  time.  They  talked  and  laughed  a  good 
deal,  and  once  they  got  into  a  scuffle,  but  the 
instructors  didn't  even  glance  up.  I  finished 
answering  the  questions  on  my  cards,  and  was 
reading  them  over,  when  one  of  the  fellows 
behind  me  said,  — 

"  I  '11  ask  him  —  we  live  in  the  same 
house ;  "  and  the  handsome  one  came  and 
sat  down  beside  me.  There  was  something 
they  did  n't  understand  in  making  out  the 
cards,  and  the  first  thing  I  knew,  they  were 
all  gathered  around  me  examining  mine.  I 
felt  quite  important.  But  the  next  minute  I 
felt  equally  cheap. 

The  cards  that  had  been  given  us  by  the 
young  man  with  the  book  had  to  be  filled  out 
with  one's  name  and  address  and  religion. 
When  the  good-looking  one  (whose  name  I  've 
since  found  out  is  Berrisford)  came  to  it,  he 
began  to  giggle,  and  after  he  had  written  on 
it  he  showed  it  to  the  man  next  to  him,  who 
burst  out  laughing,  and  passed  it  on  to  the 
others.  They  all  laughed  as  soon  as  they 
saw  it,  and  I  was  just  about  to  hold  out  my 
hand  to  take  it,  when  the  young  instructor 
closed  his  book,  and  said  in  a  rather  tired, 
dry  tone,  — 

29 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"  By  the  way,  unless  you  actually  happen 
to  be  Buddhists  or  Hindus  or  Mohammedans, 
or  followers  of  Confucius,  kindly  refrain  from 
saying  so  on  the  card ;  only  four  men  have 
indulged  in  that  particular  jest  this  morning, 
which,  in  comparison  with  former  years,  is 
really  very  few.  I  begin  to  feel  encouraged  ; 
pray  don't  depress  me." 

I  don't  know  what  Berrisford  had  written, 
but  he  got  very  red  while  the  instructor  was 
speaking,  and  crumpled  the  card  into  a  little 
lump  which  he  afterward  slipped  into  his 
pocket.  The  others  pretended  to  be  deeply 
absorbed  in  their  writing  just  then;  but  one 
of  them  snorted  hysterically. 

If  anything  like  that  had  happened  to  me,  I 
think  I  should  have  expired  with  mortifica 
tion;  but  Berrisford  after  a  minute  or  two 
did  n't  seem  to  mind  it  at  all.  I  almost  think 
it  encouraged  him  to  do  something  even  more 
idiotic. 

There  are  two  large,  fine  statues  standing 
in  the  front  corners  of  the  room.  One  of 
them  is  a  Greek  athlete  in  the  act  of  hurling 
something  not  unlike  a  pancake,  and  is  called, 
I  believe,  The  Discus  Thrower.  (We  have  a 
little  one  in  the  library  at  home.)  The  other 
is  a  venerable  old  man  in  flowing  robes  — 

3° 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

probably  Homer  or  Sophocles  or  some  such 
person.  Well,  we  had  all  gone  up  to  the 
desk  with  our  cards.  Berrisford  was  first, 
and  just  as  he  got  there  he  stopped  (without 
giving  his  cards  to  the  little  man  who  reached 
out  for  them),  and  looked  inquiringly  from 
statue  to  statue.  Berrisford  has  a  beautiful, 
silly  face  with  big,  innocent  eyes,  and  when 
he  talks  his  manner  is  graceful  —  almost  timid; 
you  can't  help  liking  it.  I  could  see  that  he 
impressed  the  instructors  just  the  way  he  did 
mamma  and  me  the  day  we  saw  him  with  his 
mother.  He  looked  at  the  statues  a  moment, 
and  then  said  to  the  little  man, — 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me,  please,  which 
of  these  gentlemen  is  the  President  of  the  col 
lege?"  His  voice  was  so  deferential,  and 
there  was  something  so  eager  and  earnest  and 
pure  in  his  expression,  I  really  believe  that  for 
a  moment  the  instructor  thought  he  was  just 
a  nice  fool,  and  was  on  the  point  of  kindly  ex 
plaining  what  the  statues  represented.  He 
didn't,  though,  for  one  of  the  fellows  in  the 
background  tittered  and  ran  out  of  the  room, 
and  the  little  man  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
examined  Berrisford  very  deliberately,  and 
then  remarked  in  his  queer,  sarcastic  way,  — 

"  '  Sir,  thy  wit  is  as   quick  as   the   grey 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

hound's  mouth;  but  it  speeds  too  fast  —  'twill 
tire ! '  " 

As  soon  as  we  got  outside,  Berrisford  said, — 

"What  a  disappointing  little  creature!  I 
had  an  idea  he  would  be  very  angry,  and  he 
was  n't  at  all." 

"  Did  you  want  him  to  be  angry  ?  "  I  asked, 
rather  surprised. 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course,"  he  answered.  "It's 
so  interesting  to  watch  them;  there  are  so 
many  different  ways  of  losing  a  temper.  Sea- 
captains  are  the  most  satisfactory,  I  think.  I 
discovered  that  last  spring  on  my  way  to 
Europe.  I  go  up  to  them  when  they  're  very 
busy — just  getting  out  of  a  harbor  or  some 
thing  —  and  exclaim,  *  Oh,  I  say,  Captain  — 
shall  I  steer?'  You  can't  imagine  how  furi 
ous  it  makes  them."  I  said  I  thought  I  could, 
and  we  parted.  He  seems  to  have  a  great 
many  friends ;  he  has  n't  spent  a  night  at 
home  since  college  opened  —  a  week  ago. 

Well,  I  went  to  see  my  adviser,  who  helped 
me  select  my  studies  for  the  year.  That  is  to 
say,  he  hypnotized  me  into  taking  a  lot  of 
things  I  really  don't  see  why  I  should  know. 
However,  as  I  don't  seem  to  have  what  he 
called  "  a  startling  predilection"  for  anything 
(my  entrance  exams,  divulged  this),  and  as  he 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

was  a  pleasant  young  man  who  invited  me  tb 
dinner  next  week,  I  allowed  myself  to  be  in 
fluenced  by  him.  He  gave  me  a  lot  of  little 
pamphlets  with  the  courses  and  the  hours  a. 
which  they  come  marked  in  red  ink.  I  've  fo. 
gotten  what  some  of  them  are,  as  we  have  n't 
had  any  real  lectures  yet  —  just  rigmaroles 
about  what  books  to  buy. 

For  the  first  few  days  the  whole  college 
and  all  the  streets  and  buildings  near  it  seemed 
to  be  in  such  confusion  that  I  could  n't  walk 
a  block  without  feeling  terribly  excited  —  the 
way  I  used  to  feel  when  I  was  a  kid,  and  we 
were  all  going  to  the  State  fair  or  the  cir 
cus,  and  mamma  would  insist  on  our  eating 
luncheon  although  we  did  n't  want  a  thing. 
Along  the  sidewalk  in  the  Square  there  was 
a  barricade  of  trunks  so  high  that  you  could  n't 
see  over  it,  to  say  nothing  of  huge  mounds  of 
travelling  bags  and  dress-suit  cases  and  queer- 
shaped  leather  things,  with  banjos  and  man 
dolins  and  guitars  and  golf-sticks  in  them. 
And  fr^m  morning  till  night  there  were  always 
at  least  four  or  five  fellows  telling  the  express 
men  that  it  was  "  perfectly  absurd  ;  "  that 
they  simply  had  to  have  their  trunks  immedi 
ately  ;  that  the  service  was  abominable,  and 
that  the  whole  place  was  a  hundred  and  fifty 
3  33 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

years  behind  the  times,  anyhow.  All  of  which 
the  expressmen  may  or  may  not  have  agreed 
with,  for  they  hardly  ever  answered  back,  and 
just  went  on  digging  steamer  trunks  and  hat- 
boxes  out  of  the  ruins  and  slamming  them  into 
wagons  to  make  room  for  the  loads  that  kept 
arriving  every  little  while  from  town. 

It  was  very  interesting  to  watch  so  many 
fellows  of  my  own  age  or  a  little  older  hurry 
ing  about  or  standing  in  groups  talking  and 
laughing  and  looking  glad  to  be  here.  But 
at  the  same  time  it  was  sort  of  unsatisfactory 
and  hopeless.  I  didn't  like  to  stay  in  my 
room  much  of  the  time,  as  I  had  a  feeling  (I 
have  n't  got  over  it  yet)  that  if  I  did  I  might 
miss  something.  Yet,  when  I  went  out,  I 
had  so  few  things  to  do  that,  unless  I  took  a 
walk  —  which  of  course  leads  one  away  from 
the  excitement  —  there  was  n't  much  point  in 
my  being  around  at  all.  No  one  stuck  his 
head  from  an  upper  window  in  the  Yard  and 
jailed  out,  "  Ay-y-y-y-y,  Tommy  Wood,  come 
s;p  here,"  when  /  passed  by ;  and  no  one 
slipped  up  behind  me,  and  put  his  hands  over 
my  eyes  and  waited  for  me  to  guess  who  it 
was,  because,  with  the  exception  of  Mr. 
Duggie  and  Dick  Benton  and  Berrisford,  I 
didn't  know  a  soul.  I  often  saw  Mr.  Duggie 

34 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

in  the  Square,  but  as  he  was  always  with  a 
crowd  or  striding  along  in  a  great  hurry,  and 
being  stopped  every  few  feet  by  some  one  who 
asked  him  questions  that  made  him  laugh  and 
run  away,  I  got  a  chance  to  speak  to  him  only 
once.  He  nodded  his  head  and  smiled  in  a 
professional  kind  of  way  without  in  the  least 
remembering  who  I  was.  Dick  Benton  I 
didn't  have  any  hesitation  in  going  right  up 
to,  as  at  home  I  had  heard  him  solemnly 
promise  mamma  that  he  would  look  out  for 
me  and  keep  his  eye  on  me.  Of  course  I 
don't  expect  him  to  do  this ;  but  I  confess  I 
did  feel  sort  of  disappointed  for  a  minute 
when  he  said :  "  Well,  Wood  "  (he  calls  me 
Tommy  at  home),  "when  did  you  arrive? 
Getting  settled?  Got  your  courses  picked 
out  ?  Awful  bore,  is  n't  it  ?  Well,  here  's  my 
car  —  going  to  meet  some  people  in  town  and 
am  late  now.  How  's  Mrs.  Wood  ?  So  glad. 
Hunt  me  up  when  you  're  settled.  So  long." 
He  swung  himself  on  a  passing  car  and  I 
turned  away  and  stared  at  a  shop  window.  I 
must  have  stood  there  several  minutes  before 
I  realized  it  was  a  bakery,  and  that  there  was 
absolutely  nothing  to  look  at  behind  the  glass 
except  three  loaves  of  bread  and  a  dish  of  imi 
tation  ice  cream  that  had  n't  been  dusted  for 

35 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

weeks  (it  has  just  this  minute  occurred  to  me 
for  the  first  time  that  I  must  have  been  home 
sick  that  day  and  the  next.  Is  n't  it  queer,  I 
didn't  know  what  was  the  matter  with  me?) 
I  bet  I  can  describe  every  article  in  every 
shop  window  in  the  Square  ;  for  there  was 
nothing  for  me  to  do  the  first  few  days  except 
to  walk  up  and  down  and  pretend  I  was  going 
somewhere.  Of  course  I  tried  to  get  the 
books  the  various  instructors  told  me  about ; 
but  every  time  I  asked  for  them  at  the  three 
bookstores  I  found  either  that  the  last  one 
had  just  been  sold  or  that  they  had  n't  arrived 
yet. 

Mrs.  Muldooney's  tables  were  unfortunately 
full  when  I  applied  and  I  have  been  eating 
around  at  the  most  ridiculous  places  —  ice 
cream  parlors,  and  dairy  restaurants  where 
you  sit  on  high  stools  and  grab  things,  be 
cause  you  can't  get  over  the  feeling  that  a 
conductor  will  stick  his  head  in  the  door 
pretty  soon  and  say,  "All  Abo-urrrd." 

On  Bloody  Monday  night  the  Freshmen 
reception  took  place.  I  scarcely  know  how 
to  touch  on  that  event,  as  my  part  in  it  (or 
rather  in  what  followed)  was  so  unexpectedly 
prominent  and  terrible. 

The  old  college  men  at  home  had  let  drop 
36 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

all  kinds  of  mysterious  hints  about  Bloody 
Monday.  In  their  time,  apparently,  it  was 
the  custom  for  the  upper-classmen  to  send 
grewsome  notices  to  the  Freshmen,  telling 
them  what  would  happen  if  they  did  n't  have 
a  punch  in  their  rooms  on  that  occasion. 
These  warnings  were  written  in  blood  and  be 
gan  and  ended  with  a  skull  and  cross-bones. 
Then  in  the  evening  there  was  a  rush  in  the 
Yard  between  the  Freshmen  and  Sophomores. 
The  old  graduates  knew  perfectly  well  that 
the  punches  had  been  given  up  long  ago ;  but 
I  don't  think  they  liked  to  admit  it  even  to 
themselves  —  although  they  do  groan  a  good 
deal  about  college  days  not  being  what  they 
used  to  be.  From  what  they  said  I  could  not 
tell  whether  there  really  were  such  things  now 
adays  or  not,  so  I  wrote  a  little  note  to  Mr. 
Duggie  and  left  it  on  the  stairs,  where  the 
postman  puts  our  letters,  asking  him  what  to 
do  if  I  got  a  notice,  and  if  there  was  going  to 
be  any  rush.  He  answered  :  "  The  custom,  I 
am  sorry  to  say,  is  ausgespielt  ;  it  must  have 
been  great  sport.  As  for  the  rush  —  theoreti 
cally  we  don't  have  it.  By  the  way,  my  name 
(Mrs.  Chester  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding) 
is  not  Mr.  Duggie,  but  Douglas  Sherwin." 
At  that  time  I  did  n't  know  what  the  second 
37 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

sentence  of  his  note  meant,  but  I  understand 
now  ;  it  dawned  on  me  during  the  speeches  at 
the  reception.  In  some  mysterious,  indescrib 
able  way  it  was  communicated  to  me  as  I  sat 
there  in  the  crowded  theatre.  Whether  it 
came  to  me  most  from  my  classmates  - 
packed  into  the  pew-like  seats  and  standing 
in  rows  against  the  wall  —  or  from  the  pro 
fessors  who  spoke  on  the  stage,  I  can't  say. 
I  simply  became  aware  of  the  fact  that  some 
thing  was  going  to  happen  —  something  that 
wasn't  on  the  program.  It  was  in  the  air  — 
it  made  me  restless,  and  I  could  n't  help  think 
ing  of  that  sultry  afternoon  out  West  when  the 
seven  pack-horses  stampeded  just  as  we  were 
about  to  start ;  I  knew  the  little  devils  were 
going  to  do  something  and  they  knew  it,  too, 
for  they  all  began  to  buck  at  the  same  instant. 
But  I  hadn't  said  anything  about  it — and 
neither  had  they. 

It  was  just  like  that  while  the  speeches  of 
welcome  were  being  made  in  Sanders  Theatre. 
They  were  fine  speeches ;  they  really  did 
make  you  welcome  and  part  of  it  all  —  in  a 
way  you  hadn't  thought  of  before.  You 
couldn't  help  being  proud  that  you  "be 
longed,"  and  after  the  President  had  spoken 
and  the  fellow  next  to  me  yelled  in  my  ear  (he 

38 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

had  to  yell,  the  cheering  was  so  loud),  "  He  's 
a  great  man,  all  right,"  I  felt  all  over  that 
he  was  a  great  man — everybody  did.  But 
nevertheless,  there  was  something  else  tingling 
through  the  noise  and  excitement  that  we  felt 
just  as  much.  The  professors  themselves  felt 
it.  The  elaborate  way  in  which  every  one  of 
them  ignored  the  subject  of  Bloody  Monday 
was  almost  pathetic.  The  Dean  in  his  speech 
ignored  it  so  radiantly  that  the  audience  ac 
tually  laughed.  Theoretically  as  (Douglas 
Sherwin  had  said)  there  would  be  no  rush ; 
the  speeches  made  one  quite  ashamed  to  think 
of  such  a  thing. 

I  was  n't  there  when  it  started,  for  after  the 
speeches  I  went  with  the  crowd  into  the  great 
dining-hall  to  be  received.  It  would  be  nice, 
I  thought,  to  be  introduced  to  the  distin 
guished  men  and  to  get  to  know  some  of  my 
classmates.  Every  one  was  trying  to  move 
toward  the  further  left-hand  corner  of  the  vast 
place,  and  I  soon  found  myself  hemmed  in  and 
carried  —  oh,  so  slowly  —  along  with  the  tide. 
It  was  very  hot,  and  as  I  am  not  particularly 
tall  I  would  more  than  once  have  given  a  good 
deal  to  be  out  in  the  fresh  night  air ;  but  the 
thought  of  shaking  hands  with  the  President 
and  the  gentleman  who  invented  plane  geom- 

39 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

etry  (I  did  n't  know  whether  he  had  anything 
to  do  with  solid  or  not ;  I  never  studied  it), 
and  another  gentleman  (a  humorist)  who  wrote 
a  book  and  called  it  The  Easy  Greek  Reader, 
cheered  me  up.  I  knew,  too,  that  mamma 
would  be  glad  to  hear  I  had  talked  to  these 
men.  But  when,  after  at  least  half  an  hour 
of  waiting  and  pushing,  I  reached  the  corner 
of  the  room,  I  discovered  that  it  was  n't  the 
distinguished  men  we  had  all  along  been  gasp 
ing  and  struggling  for ;  it  was  the  ice  cream. 
The  distinguished  men  were  lined  up  away 
across  the  room  all  alone ;  if  it  had  been 
rumored  beforehand  that  they  were  indisposed 
with  the  plague,  they  could  n't  have  been  much 
more  detached.  Every  now  and  then  some 
young  fellow  —  probably  an  upperclassman  — 
would  snatch  a  Freshman  from  the  throng, 
say  something  in  his  ear  (it  looked  as  if  he 
were  murmuring,  "  They  're  all  perfectly  harm 
less  —  only  you  must  n't  prod  them  or  throw 
things  in  the  cage )",  and  march  him  up  to 
be  introduced.  I  watched  these  proceedings 
awhile,  and  then,  as  the  ice  cream  in  the  mean 
while  had  given  out,  I  left  and  started  to  walk 
to  my  room  by  way  of  the  Yard. 

A  sound  of  confused  cheering  reached  me 
the  moment  I  got  outside,  and  when  I  passed 

40 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

through  the  gate  I  could  see  down  the  long 
quadrangle  what  seemed  to  be  a  battle  of  will- 
o'-the-wisps  —  a  swaying,  shifting,  meeting, 
parting,  revolving  myriad  of  flickering  lights 
and  lurid  faces.  I  ran  until  I  reached  the 
edge  of  the  crowd,  and  stood  for  a  minute  or 
two  staring  and  listening.  The  fellows  were 
surging  wildly  up  and  down  and  across  the 
Yard  with  torches  in  their  hands,  cheering  and 
singing.  Whenever  enough  men  got  together, 
they  would  lower  their  torches  and  charge 
the  whole  length  of  the  Yard  —  amid  a  howl 
of  resentment  —  like  a  company  of  lancers. 
Then  by  the  time  they  had  turned  to  plough 
back  again,  another  group  would  have  formed, 
which  usually  met  the  first  one  half-way  with 
a  terrible  roar  and  a  clash  of  tin  torches,  —  a 
drench  of  kerosene  and  a  burst  of  flame.  Two 
German  bands  that  never  stopped  playing  the 
"Blue  Danube"  and  the  "  Washington  Post" 
were  huddled  at  either  end  of  the  Yard.  Now 
and  then  a  sort  of  tidal  wave  of  lights  and  faces 
and  frantic  hands  would  swell  rapidly  toward 
them,  lap  them  up,  engulf  them,  and  then 
go  swirling  back  again  to  the  middle.  But 
they  never  stopped  playing,  —  even  when  they 
became  hopelessly  scattered  and  horribly 
reunited. 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


I  saw  two  policemen  fluttering  distractedly 
on  the  brink  —  pictures  of  conscious  ineffi 
ciency  —  and  felt  sorry  for  the  poor  things. 
As  I  was  standing  there  wondering  where  I 
could  get  a  torch,  a  slim  middle-aged  man 
with  an  iron-gray  beard  bustled  up  to  them, 
and  the  three  held  a  sort  of  hurried  consulta 
tion.  It  ended  by  the  iron-gray  man's  (he 
was  a  professor)  suddenly  leaving  them  and 
mounting  the  steps  of  University  Hall.  His 
expression  as  he  turned  to  face  the  crowd  was 
the  kind  that  tries  its  best  to  be  persuasive  and 
popular  and  tremendously  resolute  all  at  once, 
but  only  succeeds  in  being  wan  and  furtive. 
He  filled  his  lungs  and  began  to  talk,  I  sup 
pose,  as  loud  as  he  could  ;  yet  all  I  heard  was 
an  occasional  despairing  "  Now,  fellows  .  .  . 
It  seems  to  me,  fellows  .  .  .  Don't  you  think 
it  would  be  better  .  .  .  ' 

No  one  paid  any  attention  to  him,  however, 
and  in  an  incredibly  short  time  the  crowd  had 
crushed  itself  as  far  away  as  it  could  into  the 
quadrangle's  lower  end.  I  made  my  way  over 
there,  and  as  I  was  pushing  into  the  thick  of 
things  a  man  next  to  me  exclaimed  to  no  one  in 
particular:  "They've  sent  for  Duggie  Sher- 
win,  the  captain  of  the  team,  as  a  last  resort 
-  he's  going  to  say  something  from  the  porch 

42 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

of  Matthews."  I  saw  I  never  could  get  near 
Matthews  by  trying  to  forge  straight  ahead  ; 
so,  as  I  wanted  to  hear  Mr.  Duggie  (I  hadn't 
known  until  that  minute  what  he  was),  I  ex 
tricated  myself  and  ran  around  the  edge  of  the 
crowd.  Even  then  I  wasn't  very  near,  and, 
although  I  couldn't  hear  a  word  he  said,  I 
could  see  him  —  standing  on  a  chair  —  tower 
ing  above  everybody  and  smiling  a  little  as  if 
he  enjoyed  it.  I  didn't  know  what  he  said  ; 
to  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  think  anybody  did, 
except  perhaps  the  men  right  around  him. 
Yet  in  about  a  minute  two  or  three  fellows 
began  to  yell,  "  All  over,"  "  The  stuff  is  off," 
and  "  Now  will  you  be  good  ;  "  and  the  crowd 
fell  back  a  little,  attempting  to  spread  out. 
The  spell  somehow  was  broken  ;  for  owing 
to  Mr.  Duggie's  wonderful  influence  we  would 
have  dispersed  quietly  if  it  had  n't  been  for 
that  flighty  idiot,  Berrisford. 

I  had  picked  up  a  torch  that  some  one 
had  thrown  away  and  was  moving  along 
with  it  when  Berrisford  dashed  up  to  me 
with  something  round  —  about  the  size  of  a 
football  —  wrapped  in  a  newspaper.  One 
of  the  sleeves  of  his  coat  was  gone  ;  he  was 
breathing  hard  and  seemed  to  be  fearfully 
excited. 

43 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"  It 's  your  turn  now,"  he  gasped,  and  thrust 
the  parcel  into  my  hand. 

"  Why  —  what  is  it?  —  what  are  we  going 
to  do?  The  rush  is  over,"  I  answered,  for  I 
didn't  understand. 

"  Of  course  the  rush  is  over  —  stupid,"  he 
said  hurriedly.  "  We're  playing  a  game  now 
—  '  The  King's  Helmet '  —  and  you  're  It.  I 
was  It  —  but  I'm  not  any  more  ;  you  are  now. 
Hurry  up,  for  Heaven's  sake,  or  they'll  get  it. 
Here  they  come  —  run  for  all  you're  worth  ; 
it  may  mean  a  lot  for  the  class."  This  last 
and  the  fact  of  my  catching  sight  just  then  of 
some  men  running  toward  me  decided  me.  I 
clutched  the  parcel  to  my  side  and  scudded 
down  the  Yard.  Every  one  fell  back  to  let 
me  pass,  and  my  progress  was  followed  by 
screams  of  delight.  I  never  had  attracted  so 
much  attention  before,  and  from  the  things 
that  were  shouted  at  me  as  I  flew  along  I 
knew  I  was  doing  well.  At  the  end  of  the 
Yard  I  ran  smash  into  a  building,  but  although 
somewhat  dazed  I  managed  to  hang  on  to  the 
parcel,  turn,  and  look  back.  The  only  person 
pursuing  me,  apparently,  was  a  bareheaded 
policeman  — and  he  was  alarmingly  near.  But 
I  managed  to  pass  him,  and  on  my  return  trip 
I  noticed  that  I  received  even  a  greater  ova- 

44 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

tion  than  the  one  the  fellows  had  given  me  at 
first.  I  did  n't  know  what  it  all  meant,  and  I 
was  nearly  dead,  and  suddenly  tripped,  stag 
gered,  and  fell  into  the  arms  of  a  second 
policeman  who  handled  me  very  roughly 
and  seized  Berrisford  s  package.  It  con 
tained  the  helmet  of  the  bareheaded  one, 
who  arrived  in  a  moment  exceedingly  ex 
hausted,  but  able,  nevertheless,  to  shake  his 
fist  in  my  face. 

The  parade  to  the  police  station  must  have 
been  several  blocks  long  —  I  heard  about  it 
afterward.  First  there  was  me  with  an  es 
cort  of  two  officers,  all  the  muckers  in  Cam 
bridge,  and  the  Freshman  class  in  a  body,  who 
started  a  collection  on  the  way  over  with 
which  to  bail  me  out.  Then  there  was  a 
German  band  playing  the  "Blue  Danube," 
.  and  after  that  "  a  vast  concourse"  (as  Berris 
ford  called  it)  of  Sophomores,  upperclass- 
men,  and  law  students  with  another  German 
band  playing  the  "  Washington  Post"  in  their 
midst. 

I  was  almost  paralyzed  with  fright,  and 
my  head  ached  dreadfully  from  the  blow  I 
had  given  it  against  the  building ;  but  al 
though  I  did  n't  show  it  I  could  n't  help  feel 
ing  furious  at  Berrisford.  He  stayed  right 

45 


behind  me  on  the  way  over  and  kept  saying 
at  intervals,  — 

"  It 's  all  right,  old  man.  Don't  worry 
—  there's  no  use  worrying  ;  just  leave  every 
thing  to  me." 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


m 

PERHAPS,  after  all,  my  troubles  were 
for  the  best.     It  was  not  my  fault 
that  I  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  law ; 
nothing  was  further  from  my  thoughts 
than  a  desire  to  be  disorderly.     Of  course  the 
teasing  I  have  had  to  endure  is  pretty  hard, 
and  it  is  most  annoying  to  acquire  a  nickname 
at  the  outset  (everybody  calls  me  "  Trusting 
Thomas"  or   "Tommy  Trusting"),  and  al 
though  I  realize  now  that  I  was  pretty  "  easy  " 
to  do  what  Berrisford  told  me  to,  my  con 
science  has  been  untroubled   from   the  first. 
That,  after  all,  is  the  main  thing. 

Berrisford,  I  think,  would  have  tried  (as  he 
said)  "to  smooth  it  all  over "  at  the  police 
station,  but  very  fortunately  the  arrival  of  the 
Regent  and  my  adviser  and  the  iron-gray  man 
at  once  took  the  matter  out  of  his  hands.  I 
don't  know  what  they  did  to  the  officers,  but  I 
was  quickly  transferred  from  the  police  station 
to  the  room  of  my  adviser.  It  was  more  or 
less  impossible  to  return  the  money  that  had 
been  collected  from  the  class  to  bail  me  out 
with,  so  just  as  I  left  a  fellow  with  a  loud 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

voice  proposed  amid  great  cheering  to  give 
it  to  the  Freshman  Eleven. 

There  had  been  something  spectacular  and 
brilliant  about  my  progress  from  the  Yard  to 
the  lock-up  that,  terrified  though  I  was,  I 
could  not  help  appreciating  in  an  abject, 
wretched  sort  of  a  way.  But  the  silent  walk 
down  a  back  street  to  the  hall  in  which  my 
adviser  lives  was  just  common  or  garden 
melancholy.  The  sidewalk  was  broad,  so  we 
swung  along  four  abreast.  No  one  followed 
us,  of  course,  and  we  went  the  entire  dis 
tance  in  almost  unbroken  silence.  Once  the 
Regent  cleared  his  throat  and  said  in  hard, 
cheerful,  deliberate  tones,  — 

"  I  see  by  the  evening  paper  that  Japan 
will  not  accede  to  the  request  of  the  Powers." 
No  one  answered  for  about  a  minute,  and  I 
began  to  fear  that  neither  my  adviser  nor  the 
iron-gray  man  would  take  advantage  of  the 
opportunity  to  exclaim,  "  What  a  wonderful 
little  people  they  are !  "  I  was  vaguely  dis 
appointed  ;  for  of  course  when  the  Japan 
ese  are  mentioned  one  instinctively  waits  for 
somebody  to  say  this.  However,  just  as  I 
was  beginning  to  lose  hope  and  had  almost 
made  up  my  mind  to  risk  the  comment  myself, 
the  iron-gray  man  burst  out  with,  "  What  a 

48 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

remarkable  little  people  they  are!"  and  my 
foolish  heart  was  reassured. 

I  must  say  that  when  we  reached  our  desti 
nation  and  the  inquisition  began,  they  were  — 
all  three  of  them  —  mighty  fair  and  square. 
The  circumstances  of  my  capture  were  de 
cidedly  against  me,  and  my  defence,  I  real 
ized,  sounded  simply  foolish.  (At  one  point 
my  adviser  jumped  up  abruptly  and  closed 
a  window ;  I  think  he  was  afraid  he  was 
going  to  laugh.)  There  was  nothing  for  me 
to  do  but  tell  my  story :  how  I  had  watched 
the  rush  from  the  bottom  of  the  steps ;  how 
I  had  gone  over  to  hear  Mr.  Duggie's  speech, 
and  how  Berrisford  (I  didn't  give  his  name, 
however)  had  come  up  to  me  with  the  helmet 
in  a  newspaper  and  told  me  we  were  playing 
a  game  and  that  I  was  It.  I  felt  very  earnest 
and  tremulous  when  I  began,  but  by  the  time 
I  finished  I  couldn't  help  wanting  to  shut 
a  few  windows  myself.  That  —  out  of  the 
whole  howling  mob  —  they  had  succeeded  in 
seizing  one  miserable,  little  half-dead  Fresh 
man  who  had  taken  no  part  in  the  actual  dis 
turbance,  struck  me  as  being  like  something 
in  an  imbecile  farce.  It  impressed  the  others, 
I  think,  in  much  the  same  way,  although  the 
iron-gray  man,  after  a  moment  of  silence, 
4  49 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

said :  "  Do  you  really  expect  us  to  believe 
all  this?" 

"No,  sir,"  I  answered;  "I  don't  see  how 
you  conscientiously  can."  But  they  decided 
to  believe  it,  nevertheless.  My  adviser  asked 
me  if  I  knew  who  gave  me  the  helmet,  and 
on  learning  that  I  did,  he  intimated  that  he 
would  like  to  know  the  man's  name.  I  pre 
ferred,  however,  not  to  tell ;  and  they  were 
very  nice  about  that,  too.  (I  should  n't  have 
told  even  if  they  had  chosen  to  be  disagree 
able  about  it.) 

As  far  as  I  am  concerned  I  don't  believe 
any  action  will  be  taken.  There  is  no  end, 
though,  to  the  ominous  rumors  of  what  the 
Faculty  will  do  in  general.  One  day  we 
hear  that  the  two  lower  classes  won't  be 
allowed  to  play  football  this  year,  and  the 
next,  that  all  the  Freshmen  are  to  be  put 
on  what  is  called  "  probation ;  "  everybody, 
in  an  indefinite  sort  of  way,  is  very  indignant. 
To  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  see  why  ;  but  as 
all  the  rest  are,  I  am,  too. 

Berrisford  has  been  very  nice  ever  since 
that  Monday  night.  At  first  I  think  it  was 
a  desire  to  "make  amends"  that  caused  him 
to  spend  so  much  time  in  my  room  and  ask 
me  to  do  so  many  things  with  him  and  his 

50 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

friends ;  but  of  course  he  never  put  it  that 
way.  He  was  very  much  worried  when  I 
told  him  that  my  adviser  and  the  Regent  had 
tried  to  find  out  who  had  given  me  the  helmet, 
and  he  wanted  to  rush  and  confess.  It  took 
me  a  good  while  to  persuade  him  not  to.  In 
fact,  I  didn't  persuade  him  exactly,  but  only 
got  him  to  agree  at  length  to  let  Mr.  Duggie 
decide.  Mr.  Duggie  thought  the  matter  over 
for  a  moment,  and  said  that  as  my  refusal  to 
tell  hadn't,  so  far  as  he  could  see,  made  me 
a  martyr  on  the  altar  of  friendship,  he  thought 
it  would  be  unnecessarily  theatrical  for  Ber- 
risford  to  give  himself  up. 

One  day  Berrisford  asked  me  where  I  ate, 
and  when  I  told  him  I  had  been  trying  the 
places  in  and  about  the  Square,  he  said : 
"Why,  you  silly  thing  —  why  don't  you  join 
my  crowd  at  Mrs.  Brown's?"  He  spoke  as 
if  the  idea  had  just  occurred  to  him,  but  that 
same  morning  when  he  introduced  me  to  a 
man  who  came  up  to  his  room,  the  fellow 
said :  "  I  hear  you  're  coming  to  our  table. 
That's  good."  So  it  must  have  all  been 
arranged  beforehand.  Berrisford  's  awfully 
generous  and  impulsive  and  kind,  only  he 's 
so  scatter-brained  and  eccentric  you  never 
know  what  he  's  going  to  do  next. 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

I  've  done  no  end  of  interesting  things  since 
I  last  wrote  in  my  diary.  I  bought  a  song 
called  "  Love's  Sorrow  "  at  a  music  store,  had 
the  man  play  it  for  me  five  or  six  times, 
learned  the  words  and  then  attempted  to  sing 
it  at  the  trial  of  Glee  Club  candidates.  I  'm 
sure  I  sang  all  the  notes  and  I  remembered 
the  words  without  a  mistake ;  but  something 
was  wrong.  For  after  I  stopped  singing  the 
fellow  at  the  piano  went  on  playing  the  ac 
companiment  several  minutes.  And  when  I 
took  my  seat  I  heard  one  of  the  judges  mur 
mur  as  he  wrote  something  on  a  slip  of  paper : 
"  Fourth  heat ;  Tommy  Trusting  shows  heels 
to  the  bunch  and  wins  in  a  canter."  They 
told  me  I  would  see  my  name  in  the  "  Crim 
son"  when  they  wanted  me  for  rehearsal.  It 
hasn't  appeared  yet  and  that  was  some  time 
ago. 

Then  one  morning  I  borrowed  a  jersey  and 
some  moleskins  from  a  fellow  at  our  table  and 
went  over  to  Soldiers'  Field  to  try  for  the 
football  team.  First  we  lined  up  for  short 
sprints  of  twenty  yards  or  so  ;  then  they 
divided  us  into  squads  and  made  us  practise 
falling  on  the  ball  (I  found  chloroform  lini 
ment  very  good  for  this  ;  but  Berrisford  main 
tains  that  there's  nothing  like  osteopathy). 

52 


THE    DIARY   OF  A  FRESHMAN 

Afterward  we  practised  place  kicks,  drop 
kicks  and  punts ;  candidates  for  tackle  were 
lined  up  against  one  another  and  tried  break 
ing  through  ;  quarter-backs  and  centre-rushes 
practised  passing  and  snapping  back  the  ball. 
I  tried  everything  —  even  the  dummy. 

The  dummy  is  an  imitation  man  in  football 
clothes,  suspended  by  pulley  from  a  wire 
stretched  between  posts  twenty-five  or  thirty 
feet  apart.  It  is  weighted  by  sand  in  a  bag 
that  is  supposed  to  slide  up  toward  the  pulley 
as  you  tackle  the  thing  and  grind  its  nose  in 
the  dirt ;  only  it  does  n't.  What  actually 
happens  is  that  some  one  pulls  the  dummy 
rapidly  from  one  post  to  the  other,  and  while 
the  creature  is  spinning  through  the  air  you 
hurl  yourself  at  it,  cling  to  it  desperately  with 
your  finger-nails  and  teeth  for  about  the  tenth 
of  a  second,  and  are  then  flicked  off — like 
a  drop  of  water  from  a  grindstone  —  into  the 
next  lot.  When  you  return,  the  coach  says 
he  thinks  "  that  will  do  for  this  morning  "  and 
enrolls  your  name  in  "  Squad  H."  The 
members  of  this  squad  —  it 's  the  largest  — 
are  told  to  report  for  practice  when  they 
see  their  names  in  the  "  Crimson."  All  the 
others  have  been  out  every  day  or  so  ;  but 
although  I've  read  the  "Crimson"  carefully 

53 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

every  morning  I  have  n't  seen  Squad  H  noti 
fied  once. 

I  've  got  so  that  I  don't  have  to  look  at 
the  printed  schedule  any  more  to  see  the 
days  and  hours  of  my  various  lectures.  I 
just  go  to  the  right  one  when  the  bell  rings 
as  if  I  had  been  doing  it  all  my  life.  In 
fact  the  college  world  has  settled  down  to 
a  routine  of  lectures  and  recitations,  pleas 
antly  broken  by  football  games  on  Wednes 
days  and  Saturdays,  dining  in  town  now  and 
then,  and  the  theatre  afterward.  Come  to 
think  of  it,  I  've  been  to  the  theatre  rather 
oftener  than  "  now  and  then."  At  home  there 
are  only  two ;  and  the  things  we  have  there 
—  except  once  in  a  long  time — are  pretty 
fierce.  But  here  there  are  about  seven  or 
eight  big  ones,  and  all  sorts  of  continu 
ous  performance  places,  dime  museums  and 
"nickelodeons"  besides.  You  simply  have 
to  go  pretty  often  or  you  miss  something  good 
that  everybody 's  talking  about.  Berrisford 
goes  every  night. 

I  know  now  what  Mr.  Duggie  meant  when 
he  said  my  allowance  would  not  be  big  enough. 
He  said  it  was  generous ;  there,  however,  I 
disagree  with  him.  I  'm  not  in  the  least 
extravagant,  but  papa  does  n't  seem  to  appre- 

54 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

ciate  how  many  unexpected  things  happen 
that  cost  money.  There  was  my  new  over 
coat,  for  instance.  Berrisford  was  having 
one  made,  and  I  realized  when  I  saw  him 
trying  it  on  at  the  tailor's  (it 's  a  great,  soft, 
loose  thing ;  the  kind  all  the  fellows  are 
wearing  now)  that  my  old  one  would  n't  do 
at  all.  In  fact  I  hadn't  cared  to  put  mine 
on,  although  the  wind  has  been  pretty  sharp 
once  or  twice  on  the  way  home  from  town 
late  at  night.  The  tailor  said  that  now 
was  the  time  to  get  a  coat  like  Berris- 
ford's,  as  it  would  be  much  more  expen 
sive  later  in  the  season;  so  I  ordered  one. 
In  a  certain  way  it  was  real  economy  to 
do  so.  Then,  I've  gone  to  town  in  the 
afternoon  several  times  with  some  of  the 
fellows  who  are  at  our  table  and  stayed  at 
the  last  moment  to  dinner  and  the  theatre. 
I  did  n't  have  enough  money  with  me  to  do 
all  this  and  was  n't  going  to  at  first ;  but  I 
found  that  the  others  didn't,  either,  and  ex 
pected  to  charge  their  dinners  at  the  hotel. 
You  can  even  charge  theatre  tickets  if  you 
get  them  from  an  agent  and  pay  fifty  cents 
more.  It 's  very  convenient.  I  bought  a 
few  pictures  for  my  study  —  it  looked  so  bare 
(Berrisford  has  all  sorts  of  queer,  interesting 

55 


prints  and  embroideries  on  his  walls  that  he 
brought  back  from  abroad) ;  and  I  simply 
had  to  get  some  more  chairs.  For  I  had 
only  one  (the  whirligig  in  front  of  the  desk 
doesn't  count ;  it 's  too  uncomfortable),  which 
made  it  embarrassing  when  four  or  five  men 
dropped  in.  Then  I  had  a  dozen  shirts  made 
at  a  place  just  off  Tremont  Street.  The 
shirts  mamma  got  me  at  home  are  very  nice 
and  all  that ;  but  they're  not  the  kind  the 
fellows  are  wearing  here.  Everybody  has 
colored  ones  —  pale  pinks  and  blues,  or  white 
with  a  little  stripe  of  something  running 
through  them.  Mine  were  all  white.  I 
really  didn't  need  more  than  six  new  ones, 
I  suppose,  but  the  man  said  they  were 
cheaper  by  the  dozen.  He  showed  me  some 
really  beautiful  neckties  that  had  arrived  that 
day  from  London.  Against  the  materials  I 
had  picked  out  for  the  shirts  they  were  stun 
ning,  and  as  they  weren't  dear  —  considering 
the  duty,  the  originality  of  the  designs  and 
the  heavy  silks  they  were  made  of — I  let 
him  send  me  five  of  them.  There  were  the 
prettiest  old  pair  of  brass  andirons  and  a 
fender  in  the  window  of  an  "antique"  shop 
on  Beacon  Street  that  I  used  to  stop  and 
covet  whenever  I  went  into  town.  They 

56 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

were  just  the  things  for  my  fireplace,  which 
looked  rather  shabby  —  although  comfortable. 
I  did  n't  think  I  could  afford  them  at  first ; 
but  one  day  when  I  happened  to  be  passing 
everything  in  the  window  was"  for  sale  at  a 
discount  of  ten  per  cent.  The  man  was 
very  kind  and  obliging  and  let  me  charge 
them. 

They  let  you  do  that  at  all  the  shops,  it 
seems ;  but  I  do  think  they  might  have  a 
little  more  decency  about  sending  in  their 
bills.  The  first  of  November  is  three  days 
off —  and  yet  I  've  heard  from  every  cent 
I  've  spent.  I  don't  quite  know  what  to  do 
about  it,  as  my  allowance  —  even  when  it 
comes  —  won't  be  nearly  enough  to  pay  for 
everything  ;  and  of  course  I  '11  have  to  keep 
some  of  it  for  my  board  and  washing  and 
schoolbooks,  and  all  the  other  little  expenses 
one  can't  very  well  steer  clear  of.  Before 
going  to  bed  the  last  two  nights  I  've  spent 
an  hour  or  more  in  itemizing  everything  and 
adding  it  all  up,  and  then  checking  off*  the 
people  who  have  to  be  paid  immediately, 
the  ones  who  could  wait  a  short  time,  and 
the  ones  about  whom  there  is  no  particular 
hurry.  This  makes  the  financial  outlook  a 
little  more  possible,  but  not  much.  And  yet 

57 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

Duggie  had  the  nerve  to  say  he  thought  my 
allowance  generous  f 

Another  matter  that  I  try  not  to  think  of  is 
the  fact  that  very  soon  we  are  to  be  given  what 
is  called  "  hour  examinations  "  in  all  our  stud 
ies.  I  never  imagined  they  would  come  so 

—  well,  abruptly  ;  when  we  began  it  seemed 
as  if  we  would   take  much  longer  to   learn 
enough  to  be  examined  in.     To  tell  the  truth 

—  with  the  exception  of  my  English  course  — 
I  haven't  become  deeply  interested  as  yet  in 
the  lectures.     After  the  first  few  times  I  gave 
up  trying  to  take  notes  ;   everything  I  wrote 
seemed  so  unimportant.     And  I  haven't  done 
any  of  the  reading,  either.     They  expect  you 
to  do   a   lot  of  reading   at   home  or  in   the 
library,  and  hold  you  responsible  for  it  in  the 
examination.     The  man  Berrisford  and  I  have 
in  history  is  a  dreamy  old    thing    who   goes 
into  thoughtful   trances   every  now  and  then 
in  the  middle  of  a  sentence,  while  three  hun 
dred  and  fifty  stylographic  pens  hang  in  mid 
air  waiting  to  harpoon  the  next  word.     One 
day,  after  telling  us  to   read  a  certain  work 
on  the  feudal  system,  he  added  in  a  kind  of 
vague,  helpless  way, — 

"  We  haven't  the  book  in  the  library  and 
I  believe  it  is  out  of  print,  so  I  don't  think 

58 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

you  will  be  able  to  buy  it  anywhere ;  but  it 's 
a  singularly  perfect  exposition  of  the  subject 
and  I  strongly  advise  you  all  to  read  it." 
They  say  he  knows  more  about  fen-drainage 
in  the  thirteenth  century  than  any  other  living 
person  except  one  dreadfully  old  man  in  Ger 
many  who  's  beginning  to  forget  about  it. 

We  were  instructed  to  make  ourselves 
familiar  with  another  work  that  is  in  the 
library,  and  told  that  without  a  knowledge 
of  it  we  could  not  expect  to  accomplish  much 
in  the  examination. 

"  I  don't  suppose  many  of  you  will  read 
every  word  of  it,"  the  old  man  said,  "al 
though  it  will  do  you  a  vast  amount  of  good 
if  you  do."  I  privately  made  up  my  mind 
to  plough  through  the  whole  thing  —  even  if  it 
were  in  two  volumes ;  I  thought  it  would 
please  him.  So,  the  other  day  as  it  was 
raining  and  there  was  n't  anything  in  particu 
lar  going  on,  Berrisford  suggested  that  we 
run  over  to  the  library  and  glance  through 
the  book.  We'd  never  been  in  the  library 
before  and  had  to  ask  one  of  the  pages  at 
the  delivery  desk  where  the  history  alcove 
was.  He  couldn't  attend  to  us  at  first,  as 
there  was  an  angry  old  gentleman  with  a 
very  red  face  prancing  up  and  down  in  front 

59 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

of  the  desk  exclaiming  :  "It's  an  outrage  — 
an  outrage!  I  shall  certainly  speak  to  the 
President  about  this  before  the  sun  goes  down 
upon  my  wrath  !  "  Several  other  pages  were 
cowering  behind  the  desk,  and  a  terrified  libra 
rian  was  murmuring :  "I  can  have  it  here 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  sir  —  the  first 
thing;  can  you  wait  that  long?" 

"But  I  want  it  now!  "  the  old  gentleman 
declared ;  "  I  shall  not  wait  until  the  first 
thing  in  the  morning.  You  're  preposterous. 
It's  an  outrage!  "  He  was  so  emphatic  and 
peevish  that  some  of  the  students  in  the  big 
reading-room  pushed  open  the  swinging  doors 
and  stuck  their  heads  in  to  see  what  the 
trouble  was. 

Well,  Berrisford  and  I  found  out  from  the 
page  that  he  is  the  greatest  philosopher  of 
modern  times.  He  had  come  in  to  get  a 
book  that  had  n't  been  asked  for  in  fourteen 
years,  and  had  just  learned  that  it  had  been 
carted  away  to  the  crypt  of  Appleton  Chapel 
to  make  room  for  something  that  seemed  to 
be  rather  more  universal  in  its  appeal. 

The  page  took  us  to  the  alcove  we  were 
looking  for,  and  Berrisford  found  our  book 
almost  immediately.  My  back  was  toward 
him  when  he  discovered  it,  and  I  turned 

60 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

around  only  because  of  his  unusual  and  pro 
longed  silence.  He  was  standing  petrified  in 
front  of  eighteen  fat,  dog-eared  volumes,  with 
his  big  eyes  blinking  like  an  owl  confronted 
by  a  dazzling  light. 

"  Is  that  it?"  I  inquired  after  a  moment 
in  a  cold,  hushed  voice.  By  way  of  answer 
he  merely  rolled  his  eyes  and  swallowed  as 
if  his  throat  were  dry. 

"It's  a  masterly  little  thing  —  isn't  it?" 
he  at  length  managed  to  say.  Then  without 
further  comment  we  removed  the  volumes 
from  the  shelf  and  piled  them  on  a  table  in 
the  alcove.  They  almost  covered  it.  When 
we  had  finished,  Berrisford,  with  a  grim  look 
about  his  under  lip,  opened  one  of  them  and 
began  to  read.  I  did  the  same.  It  was  just 
three  o'clock.  We  read  for  an  hour  without 
speaking  or  looking  at  each  other,  and  at  the 
end  of  that  time  Berrisford  took  a  pencil  from 
his  pocket  and  began  to  make  calculations  on 
the  back  of  a  letter.  At  last  he  looked  up 
as  if  to  demand  my  attention. 

"I  have  read  this  book  conscientiously  — 
footnotes  and  everything  —  for  an  hour,"  he 
said  ;  he  was  deliberate  and  there  was  an 
air  of  finality  in  his  tone.  "  I  find  that  I 
have  completed  five  pages  —  the  meaning  of 

61 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

which  has  since  escaped  me.  Now,  as  there 
are  four  hundred  pages  in  this  volume  and 
as  many,  presumably,  in  every  one  of  the 
other  seventeen,  it  will  take  me  one  thousand 
four  hundred  and  forty  hours  —  sixty  days, 
or  two  months  —  to  4  familiarize  '  myself  with 
the  whole  set.  If  we  sit  here  night  and  day 
for  the  next  two  months  without  taking  a 
second  off  to  eat,  sleep,  or  bathe,  we  shall 
have  glanced  through  this  superficial  pam 
phlet  and  pleased  the  old  man." 

"  I  think  it  has  stopped  raining,"  I  replied. 

We  have  a  new  inmate  at  our  house.  I 
woke  up  one  morning  hearing  such  a  strange, 
wild,  sad  little  song  coming  from  my  study. 
At  first  I  thought  I  must  have  dreamed  it, 
but  even  after  I  sat  up  in  bed  and  knew  I 
was  awake,  the  sound  continued.  It  was 
the  queerest,  most  barbaric  little  refrain,  all 
in  a  minor  key  with  words  I  could  n't  make 
out,  and  was  the  sort  of  thing  one  could 
imagine  a  "  native  "  of  some  kind  crooning 
to  himself  in  the  middle  of  a  rice-field.  I 
listened  to  it  awhile — almost  afraid  to  go 
in  ;  but  when  it  began  to  grow  louder,  and 
then  was  interrupted  from  time  to  time  by 
the  most  horrible  gurgling  and  strangling 
noises,  I  jumped  up  and  opened  my  study 

62 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

< 

door.  At  the  same  moment  Berrisford  and 
Mrs.  Chester  appeared  at  the  other  door. 
In  the  middle  of  the  room  was  a  bristling 
brown  thing  with  pointed  ears  and  muzzle 
and  shrewd  little  eyes.  It  had  absurdly  big 
feet  and  looked  like  a  baby  wolf.  Some 
thing  that  seemed  to  be  a  piece  of  leather 
was  dangling  from  its  mouth.  Berrisford 
threw  himself  on  the  floor,  exclaiming  :  "  My 
darling  —  my  Saga  —  what  is  it  —  speak  to 
me ! "  and  pulled  gently  at  the  piece  of 
leather.  The  brute  rolled  his  eyes,  gagged 
a  little,  and  let  him  have  it.  "  Why,  it 's 
the  thumb  of  a  glove,"  Berrisford  said,  hold 
ing  up  his  prize  for  us  to  look  at,  "  and  he 
dess  touldn't  eat  it  'tause  it  had  a  nassy  tin 
button  wivetted  on  uzzer  end,  so  he  tould  n't," 
he  added  to  the  animal. 

"That  doesn't  seem  to  have  stood  in  the 
way  of  his  eating  the  other  one,"  I  remarked 
coldly,  for  there  was  enough  of  the  chewed 
thing  in  Berrisford's  hand  to  enable  me  to 
identify  the  remains  of  a  pair  of  very  expen 
sive  gloves  I  had  bought  two  days  before. 

"  Heavens  !  —  do  you  suppose  he  really 
did?  "  Berrisford  asked  in  great  alarm.  "  Do 
you  think  it  will  hurt  him?" 

"  Of  course  he  ate  it.  I  don't  see  it  any- 
63 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 


where,  and  they  were  both  together  on  that 
chair.  I  hope  it  will  hurt  him,"  I  said. 

"  It  is  n't  like  you,  Wood,  to  talk  that 
way  about  a  poor,  lonely,  foreign  thing  who  's 
never  been  in  a  house  before  in  all  his  life," 
Berrisford  muttered  resentfully. 

"  Well,  he  certainly  do  make  the  most  out 
landish  sounds,"  Mrs.  Chester  interposed. 

"  It  isn't  outlandish  — it's  Icelandic,"  Ber 
risford  replied.  "  He  came  all  the  way  from 
Reikiavik  on  a  Gloucester  fishing-smack.  I 
bought  him  at  Gloucester  yesterday  for  a 
dollar  —  didn't  I,  my  booful  Saga;  ess  he 
did.  And  he  dess  chewed  all  de  checks  offen 
de  trunks  in  dat  nassy  old  baggage  car  on 
de  way  up  —  did  n't  he,  darlin'  ?  And  dat 
horrid  baggage  man  was  dess  crazy  'tause 
he  did  n't  know  where  to  put  off  any  baggage 
and  had  to  delay  de  twain  like  evvysing." 
Berrisford  became  quite  incoherent  after  this, 
so  I  returned  to  my  bedroom  and  slammed 
the  door. 

I  don't  think  it 's  right  for  any  one  man  to 
inflict  a  whole  community  with  a  beast  like 
Saga,  and  I  've  told  Berrisford  so  several 
times;  but  he  always  says:  "You  seem  to 
forget  that  I  suffer  as  much,  if  not  more, 
than  any  one.  Do  you  ever  hear  me  com- 

64 


THE    DIARY   OF  A   FRESHMAN 

plain  when  he  wallows  in  the  mud  and  then 
snuggles  up  in  my  bed?  Was  there  any 
outcry  when  he  ate  my  gloves  and  my  patent 
leather  shoes  and  my  Russia  leather  note 
book  with  hundreds  of  exhaustive,  priceless 
notes  on  the  first  part  of  «  Paradise  Lost '  ? 
Did  I  make  a  violent  scene  —  the  way  you 
and  Duggie  do  every  day  —  when  I  gave  the 
tea  for  my  sister  and  found  him  just  before 
the  people  came  —  behind  the  bathtub  in  a 
state  of  coma  from  having  eaten  thirty-six 
perfectly  delicious  lettuce  sandwiches?  You 
might  at  least  admit  that  you  think  he 's  just 
as  distinguished  and  quaint-looking  as  he  can 
be ;  because,  of  course,  you  do  think  so. 
You  know  you  love  him  to  follow  you  through 
the  Square  —  with  everybody  turning  to  look 
—  you  know  you  do.  Doesn't  he,  mon  ton- 
ton,  mon  bebe,  mon  chien  de  race?" 

One  of  the  fellows  at  the  table  invited  us 
to  dine  at  his  house  in  town  last  Sunday 
evening.  Berrisford  was  to  meet  me  at  a 
hotel  in  the  Back  Bay  at  a  quarter  past  seven 
and  we  were  to  go  together.  I  took  a  long 
walk  that  afternoon,  and  the  air  was  so  de 
licious  and  the  autumn  foliage  in  the  country 
so  beautiful  that  I  did  n't  realize  how  late  it 
was  until  I  looked  at  a  clock  in  a  jeweller's 
s  65 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

window  on  the  way  back.  I  hurried  to  my 
room  to  dress,  and  as  I  opened  the  front 
door  my  heart  suddenly  sank  —  for  upstairs 
I  heard  Saga  chanting  his  terrible  little 
refrain.  We  have  all  come  to  dread  that 
sound  at  our  house,  for  it  invariably  means 
the  loss  of  a  cherished  object  to  some 
body.  Berrisford  calls  it  the  "  Icelandic 
Hunger  and  Death  Motif."  I  ran  upstairs 
and  found  Saga  eating  one  of  the  tails  of 
my  dress-coat  which  I  had  hung  over  the 
back  of  a  chair  in  my  study  to  get  the 
creases  out.  He  had  apparently  first  torn 
it  off,  then  divided  it  into  small  pieces,  and 
was  consuming  them  one  by  one  as  I  came 
in.  I  was  already  late  for  dinner,  and  as 
it  was  Sunday  evening  there  was  no  one  in 
town  from  whom  I  could  borrow  another  coat. 
For  a  moment  I  couldn't  decide  whether  to 
sit  down  and  cry  or  to  commit  Sagacide. 


66 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


IV 

OF  course  I  went  to  the  dinner  —  and 
what  is  more,  I  arrived  almost  on 
time.      I    can't   give   myself   any 
particular  credit  for  this  achieve 
ment,   however,    as    it   was    luck,   pure   and 
simple,   that    got    me    there.      There    is   no 
doubt  about  it,  I  am  marvellously  lucky ;  I 
seem  to  have  a  knack  of  falling  on  my  feet, 
and  although  Duggie  has  taken  to  worrying 
about  my   "  shiftlessness "   (as  he  is  pleased 
to  call  it)  in  money  matters,  and  the  calmness 
with  which  I  regard  the  approaching  examina 
tions  and  the  academic  side  of  college  in  gen 
eral,  I    have   a  feeling   that   everything   will 
come  out  all  right  somehow. 

It  would  sound  heartless,  I  suppose,  to 
speak  as  if  I  thought  it  fortunate  that  Jerry 
Brooks  had  been  stricken  with  appendicitis 
just  in  time  to  get  me  into  the  dinner,  if  it 
weren't  for  the  fact  that  he  is  recovering 
so  splendidly.  (I  went  up  to  the  hospital 
this  afternoon  to  inquire.)  But  under  the 
circumstances  it  is  hard  not  to  look  upon  his 
sudden  seizure  rather  cheerfully  —  as  I  know 
he  will  enjoy  hearing  about  it  when  he  is  well 

67 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

enough  to  see  people.  I  was  in  despair  that 
evening  when  his  roommate  came  clattering 
up  our  tin  steps  and  pounded  on  Berrisford's 
door ;  but  the  instant  I  ran  into  the  hall  and 
saw  him  my  heart  gave  a  great  throb  of 
hope.  He  had  his  dress  clothes  on ;  but  he 
didn't  look  in  the  least  like  a  person  on  the 
way  to  dine  in  town  —  and  I  felt  with  inde 
scribable  relief  that,  if  this  were  the  case, 
I  could  have  his  coat. 

"Isn't  Berrisford  here?  Has  he  gone?" 
he  exclaimed  excitedly.  (I  had  never  seen 
him  before  —  although  I  knew  his  chum, 
Brooks,  slightly.)  "  We  were  going  to  dine 
at  the  same  house  in  town,  but  my  roommate, 
Jerry  Brooks,  got  sick  just  as  I  was  starting 
and  I  can't  go,  and  two  doctors  have  taken 
him  up  to  the  hospital,  and  the  Hemingtons 
haven't  a  telephone,  and  I  thought  I'd  let 
Berrisford  know,  for,  of  course " 

Well,  his  coat  didn't  fit  me  in  a  way  to 
make  a  tailor  expire  with  envy  exactly,  but 
I  was  mighty  glad  to  get  it  —  and  anyhow, 
I  think  people  are  inclined  to  take  a  dress- 
suit  for  granted.  Berrisford  attached  no 
importance  whatever  to  the  fact  that  his 
beast  had  ruined  my  coat,  but  merely  said 
reproachfully  :  "I  hope  you  let  him  have 

68 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

the  pieces  to  play  with ;  he  '11  be  so  lonely 
this  evening  with  no  one  in  the  house  except 
Mrs.  Chester." 

I  have  mentioned  the  fact  that  of  late  Dug- 
gie  has  given  intimations  of  having  me  "  on 
his  mind."  Of  course  when  a  man  like 
Duggie  finds  time  to  care  one  way  or  the 
other  about  what  he  thinks  you  ought  to 
do,  it 's  a  great  honor.  He  is  the  busiestj 
hardest  worked,  and  most  influential  person 
I  ever  knew.  He  belongs  to  no  end  of  clubs, 
and  besides  being  captain  of  the  team  he 's 
at  the  head  of  a  lot  of  other  college  things. 
Almost  every  day  there 's  a  reporter  or  two 
lying  in  wait  for  him  out  here  to  ask  about 
the  team,  and  whether  he  approves  of  the 
athletic  committee's  latest  mandate,  and  what 
he  thinks  about  all  sorts  of  things  in  regard 
to  which  he  has  n't  any  opinion  whatever  — 
and  wouldn't  express  it  even  if  he  had. 
Besides  all  this  he  manages  in  some  way 
to  study  awfully  hard  and  to  get  high  marks 
in  everything  he  takes.  Furthermore,  he 's 
in  training  most  of  the  year,  and  just  now 
he  has  to  go  to  bed  every  night  except  Satur 
day  at  half-past  nine  or  ten.  He's  almost 
always  amiable  and  kind  to  people,  and  I 
think  he's  great.  I  can't  help  liking  the 

69 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

fact  that  he  drops  into  my  room  and  sits 
down  and  talks  the  way  he  does.  Some  of 
the  fellows  at  our  table  found  him  there  the 
other  day  and  were  scared  to  death.  But 
at  the  same  time  I  have  a  feeling  that  he 
does  n't  think  Berrisford  and  I  are  just  what 
we  ought  to  be.  As  if  people  could  be  dif 
ferent  from  the  way  they  're  made !  I  know 
that  sometimes  he  would  like  to  say  things 
that,  after  all,  he  never  quite  does. 

Of  Berrisford,  I  'm  sure,  he  doesn't  ap 
prove  at  all.  I  don't,  of  course,  believe  for 
a  moment  that  he  was  anything  but  amused 
at  the  way  Berrisford  conjugated  the  French 
verb  for  him  the  other  day  ;  but  as  it  is  the 
sort  of  thing  that  Berri  takes  an  uncontrol 
lable  joy  in  doing,  I  think  Duggie  has  an 
idea  that  he  is  n't  good  for  anything  else. 

Duggie  —  I  can't  imagine  why  —  has  never 
studied  French  until  this  year.  He  enrolled 
in  a  class  only  a  week  or  so  ago,  and  though 
it's  merely  an  extra  course  with  him  and  he 
could  get  his  degree  just  as  easily  without  it, 
he  goes  at  it  as  if  it  were  all-important.  Ber 
risford  knows  French  as  well  as  he  knows 
English,  and  volunteered  to  help  him  with  his 
exercises.  The  other  afternoon  Duggie  ran 
into  Berri's  room  and  said  :  "  I  've  an  idea 

70 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

that  we're  going  to  have  *je  suis  bonj  in 
French  to-day  ;  I  wish  you  would  write  out 
a  few  tenses  for  me  so  I  can  learn  them  on 
the  way  over  —  I  simply  have  n't  had  a  minute 
to  myself  for  two  days."  Naturally  Ber- 
risford  seemed  delighted  to  help  him,  and 
gravely  wrote  something  on  a  piece  of  paper 
that  Duggie  carried  off  just  as  the  bell  was 
ringing.  When  he  got  into  the  Yard  and 
slowed  up  to  look  at  it,  this  is  what  he 
found : 

Je  suis  bon 

Tu  es  bones 

II  est  beans 

Nous  sommes  bonbons 

Vous  etes  bonbonnieres 

Us  sont  bon-ton. 

Of  course  he  did  n't  actually  care ;  but  I 
don't  think  the  incident  helped  in  Duggie's 
opinion  to  throw  any  very  dazzling  light  on 
Berrisford's  really  serious  qualities.  Duggie 
regarded  it,  I  'm  sure,  as  about  on  a  par  with 
the  way  we  get  out  of  sitting  through  our 
history  lecture. 

One  day  when  the  dreamy  old  gentleman 
who  conducts  the  history  course  was  trying 
to  prove  that  Charlemagne  either  was  or 

7' 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

was  n't  surprised  (I  've  forgotten  which)  when 
the  Pope  suddenly  produced  a  crown  and 
stuck  it  on  his  head,  a  ripple  of  mirth  swept 
gently  across  the  room,  very  much  as  a  light 
breeze  ruffles  the  surface  of  a  wheatfield. 
No  one  laughed  out  loud  ;  but  when  between 
three  and  four  hundred  men  all  smile  at  once, 
it  makes  a  curious  little  disturbance  I  can't 
quite  describe.  The  old  gentleman  looked 
up  from  his  notes,  took  off  his  spectacles, 
chose  one  of  the  other  pairs  lying  on  the 
desk  in  front  of  him  (he  has  three  or  four 
kinds  that  he  uses  for  different  distances),  and 
inspected  the  room.  But  by  the  time  he  had 
got  himself  properly  focused  there  was  nothing 
to  see  ;  the  fellow  who  had  made  every  one 
giggle  by  climbing  out  of  the  window  and 
down  the  fire-escape  was  probably  a  block 
away.  So,  after  a  troubled,  inquiring  look 
from  side  to  side,  the  dear  old  man  changed 
his  spectacles  again  and  went  on  with  the 
lecture. 

Now,  although  it  had  never  occurred  to 
any  one  to  crawl  down  the  fire-escape  until 
that  day,  every  one  in  our  part  of  the  room 
has  become  infatuated  with  the  idea,  and 
three  times  a  week  —  shortly  after  half-past 
two  —  there  is  a  continuous  stream  of  men 

72 


THE    DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

backing  out  the  window,  down  the  iron  ladder 
and  into  the  Yard.  In  fact,  the  struggle  to 
escape  became  so  universal  and  there  were 
so  many  scraps  at  the  window  and  in  mid 
air  on  the  way  down  over  who  should  go 
first,  that  Berrisford  evolved  the  idea  of  dis 
tributing  numbers  the  way  they  do  in  barber 
shops  on  Saturday  afternoon  when  everybody 
in  the  world  becomes  inspired  with  the  desire 
to  be  shaved  at  the  same  time.  It  works 
beautifully  ;  but  of  late  the  undertaking  is 
attended  by  considerable  risk. 

At  first  Professor  Kinde  stopped  lectur 
ing  and  fumbled  for  his  other  spectacles  only 
when  he  heard  the  class  titter  ;  I  don't  be 
lieve  he  in  the  least  knew  what  was  going  on. 
But  recently  he  has  become  extremely  foxy. 
Although  he  has  n't  spoken  of  the  matter,  he 
realizes  what  is  happening,  and  I  think  the 
ambition  of  his  declining  years  is  to  catch 
somebody  in  the  act  of  darting  toward  the 
window.  At  irregular  intervals  now,  through 
out  his  lectures,  he  —  apropos  of  nothing  — 
drops  his  notes,  seizes  a  fresh  pair  of  spec 
tacles,  makes  a  lightning  change,  and  then 
peeks  craftily  about  the  room  while  the  class 
tries  hard  not  to  hurt  his  feelings  by  laugh 
ing.  Then,  disappointed,  but  with  an  air 

73 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

of  "  I  '11-surely-strike-it-right-next-time,"  he 
changes  back  again  and  continues.  The  lec 
tures  have  become  so  exciting  and  fragmentary 
that  Berrisford  and  I  are  torn  with  the  con 
flicting  desires  to  stay  and  see  what  happens 
and  to  get  out  into  the  wonderful  autumn 
weather.  Usually,  however,  we  leave,  and 
the  last  time,  just  as  I  was  preparing  to  drop 
to  the  ground,  Duggie  strode  in  sight.  Ber 
risford,  half-way  down,  happened  to  glance 
over  his  shoulder.  When  he  saw  Duggie  he 
swung  around,  struck  an  Alexandre  Dumas 
attitude,  and  exclaimed  dramatically,  — 

"  Sire,  we  have  liberated  the  prisoners,  cut 
away  the  portcullis  and  fired  the  powder 
magazine.  Is  't  well?  "  Duggie  laughed. 

"  Powder  magazines  are  n't  the  only  things 
that  get  fired  around  these  parts,  monsieur," 
he  answered  as  he  passed  on. 

Now,  there  was  nothing  disagreeable  either 
in  the  remark  or  the  way  Duggie  made  it  ;  he 
seemed  perfectly  good-natured,  and,  although 
in  a  great  hurry,  very  much  amused.  But, 
somehow,  it  was  n't  quite  as  if  any  one  else 
had  said  it.  I  don't  know  what  "  reading 
between  the  lines"  is  called  when  there  aren't 
any  lines  to  read  between ;  but  anyhow  that's 
what  I  couldn't  help  doing.  Duggie's  little 

74 


THE    DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

thrust  was  made  at  Berri  —  but  it  was  in 
tended  for  me.  And  that  's  what  I  mean 
when  I  say  Duggie  has  me  on  his  mind.  He 
would  have  Berri  there,  too,  if  he  liked  him  ; 
but  he  does  n't.  I  think  he  firmly  believes 
that  he  regards  us  both  with  the  utmost  im 
partiality  ;  yet  I  know  (this  is  recorded  in  all 
modesty,  merely  as  a  fact)  that  he  likes  me, 
and  that  for  poor  Berri  he  has  no  use  at 
all.  Berrisford  is  tactless  ;  he  had  no  busi 
ness,  for  instance,  to  tell  Duggie  about  the 
watch. 

One  Saturday  morning  when  Berrisford  had 
finished  his  lectures  for  the  day,  and  I  found 
that  a  cut  was  to  be  given  in  my  last  one,  we 
strolled  along  Massachusetts  Avenue,  without 
really  meaning  to  go  anywhere,  until  we  came 
to  the  bridge  across  the  Back  Bay.  We 
leaned  over  the  rail  awhile  and  watched  the 
tide  clutching  viciously  at  the  piers  as  it 
swirled  out,  and  then,  farther  up,  I  noticed 
a  flock  of  ducks  paddling  about  in  a  most 
delightful  little  mud-hole  left  by  the  falling 
tide. 

"  I  could  hit  one  of  those  birdies  if  I  had 
a  shotgun,"  I  said,  closing  one  eye.  (It  just 
shows  what  a  trivial  remark  may  sometimes 
lead  one  into.) 

75 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"  It  wouldn't  do  you  any  good,"  Berrisford 
yawned;  "you  couldn't  get  it." 

"I  don't  see  why  not.  I  could  borrow  a 
boat  from  the  Humane  Society  and  row  out," 
I  answered,  rather  irritated  by  Berrisford 's 
languid  scepticism. 

"  Well,  what  on  earth  would  you  do  with 
the  poor  little  beast  after  you  did  get  him  ?  " 
he  pursued. 

"What  do  you  suppose?"  I  exclaimed. 
"  What  do  people  usually  do  when  they  shoot 
a  duck?" 

"  I  think  they  usually  say  that  they  really 
hit  two,  but  that  the  other  one  managed  to 
crawl  into  a  dense  patch  of  wild  rice  growing 
near  by,"  Berrisford  answered. 

"  I  should  have  it  cooked  and  then  I  'd  eat 
it,"  I  said,  ignoring  his  remark, 

"What  an  extremely  piggish  performance! 
There  would  not  be  enough  for  any  one  but 
yourself.  I  would  much  rather  go  into  town 
with  somebody  and  have  one  apiece  at  the 
Touraine." 

"Oh,  Berrisford,"  I  murmured;  "this  is 
so  sudden !  " 

When  we  reached  the  other  side  of  the 
bridge  we  got  on  a  passing  car,  and  after  we 
sat  down  Berrisford  said,  "  You  '11  have  to 

76 


pay  for  me  ;  I  have  n't  any  money  either  here 
or  in  Cambridge."  As  I  had  just  eight  cents 
in  the  world  and  had  taken  it  for  granted  that 
Berri  was  going  to  pay  for  me,  we  jumped 
out  before  the  conductor  came  around,  and 
resumed  our  walk. 

"  If  you  have  n't  any  money  and  I  haven't 
any  money,  I  'm  inclined  to  think  the  ducks 
will  not  fly  well  to-day,"  I  mused;  for  the 
last  time  we  had  been  to  the  Touraine  the 
head  waiter  —  a  most  tiresome  person  —  told 
me  we  could  n't  charge  anything  more  there 
until  we  paid  our  bills. 

"  I  suppose  you  would  just  sit  on  the 
curbstone  and  starve,"  Berrisford  sniffed. 
And  as  we  walked  along  I  saw  that  he  had 
some  kind  of  a  plan.  He  took  me  through 
one  of  the  queer  little  alleys  with  which  Bos 
ton  is  honeycombed  and  out  into  a  noisy, 
narrow,  foreign- looking  street,  lined  with 
shabby  second-hand  stores  and  snuffy  res 
taurants,  —  the  kind  that  have  red  tablecloths 
At  first  I  thought  it  was  Berri's  intention 
to  get  luncheon  in  one  of  these  places, 
although  I  did  n't  see  how  even  he  could 
manage  it  very  well  on  eight  cents.  How 
ever,  I  asked  no  questions.  Suddenly  he 
stopped  and  took  off  his  sleeve-links.  Then 

77 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

we  walked  on  a  few  steps  and  went  into  a 
pawnbroker's. 

It  sounds  absurd,  but  when  I  discovered 
what  Berrisford  was  about  to  do  I  felt  curi 
ously  excited  and  embarrassed.  Of  course  I 
knew  that  lots  of  people  pawn  things,  but  I 
had  never  seen  it  done  before,  and  like  most 
of  the  things  you  can  think  about  and  read 
about  in  cold  blood,  I  found  that  it  made  my 
heart  beat  a  good  deal  faster  actually  to  do  it. 
In  fact,  I  did  n't  care  to  do  it  at  all,  and  told 
Berrisford  so  in  an  undertone;  but  he  said, — 

"  Why  not?  There  's  nothing  wrong  in  it. 
You  own  something  more  or  less  valuable  and 
you  happen  for  the  moment  to  need  something 
else ;  why  should  n't  you  exchange  them  ?  If 
the  soiled  vampire  who  runs  this  place  (what 's 
become  of  him,  anyhow  ?)  would  give  me  two 
small  roasted  ducks  and  some  bread  and 
butter  and  currant  jelly  and  two  little  cups 
of  coffee  and  a  waiter  to  serve  them,  and  a 
medieval  banquet  hall  to  eat  them  in,  and  a 
perfectly  awful  orchestra  behind  a  thicket  of 
imitation  palm-trees  to  play  Hungarian  rhap 
sodies  while  we  ate  —  instead  of  five  dollars 
and  a  half,  I  should  be  just  as  well  pleased ; 
because  it  will  amount  to  about  the  same 
thing  in  the  end." 

78 


Just  then  the  proprietor  of  the  shop  emerged 
from  behind  a  mound  of  trousers  and  overcoats 
and  shuffled  toward  us  very  unwillingly,  it 
seemed  to  me.  But  Berrisford  said  he  was 
always  like  that. 

"  You  can't  expect  a  display  of  pleasing 
emotions  for  a  paltry  five  per  cent  a  month," 
Berrisford  whispered  in  my  ear.  I  don't 
think,  however,  that  the  pawnbroker  could 
have  looked  pleasant  no  matter  what  per  cent 
he  got.  He  took  Berri's  beautiful  sleeve-links 
(they  're  made  of  four  antique  Japanese  gold 
pieces),  went  into  a  sort  of  glass  cage  built 
around  a  high  desk  and  a  safe,  and  did  all 
sorts  of  queer  things  to  them.  He  scratched 
the  under  side  of  two  of  the  coins  with  a  small 
file ;  then  he  dabbed  some  kind  of  a  liquid 
that  he  got  out  of  a  tiny  bottle  on  the  rough 
places  and  examined  them  through  one  of 
those  inane  spool  things  that  jewellers  hang 
on  their  eyeballs  just  before  telling  you  that 
you  've  busted  your  mainspring.  Next  he 
weighed  them  in  a  pair  of  scales  that  he 
fished  out  of  a  drawer  in  the  desk,  and  finally 
he  held  up  his  claw  of  a  hand  with  all  the 
fingers  distended,  for  us  to  inspect  through 
the  glass. 

"  Why,  you  dreadful  old  man!  "  Berrisford 
79 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

exclaimed  indignantly.  "  You  gave  me  five 
and  a  half  last  time.  I  wouldn't  think  of 
taking  less." 

For  a  moment  I  supposed  that  the  game 
was  up  and  we  'd  have  to  walk  all  the  way 
back  to  Cambridge  and  be  too  late  for 
luncheon  when  we  got  there  ;  for  Berrisford 
took  his  sleeve-links  and  strolled  over  to  the 
door,  saying  in  a  loud  voice,  — 

"  Come  on,  Tommy  ;  there  's  a  better  one 
across  the  street."  But  just  as  we  were 
leaving,  "the  soiled  vampire"  made  a  gut 
tural  sound  that  Berrisford  seemed  to  under 
stand,  and  we  went  back  and  got  the  amount 
Berri  considered  himself  entitled  to. 

"  The  quality  of  mercy  is  a  little  strained 
this  morning,"  he  said  when  Mr.  Hirsch  went 
into  the  glass  cage  again  to  make  out  the 
ticket.  I  always  had  an  idea  that  a  pawn 
ticket  was  a  piece  of  blue  cardboard  —  some 
thing  like  a  return  theatre  ticket.  But  it  is  n't, 
at  all.  It 's  simply  a  thin  slip  of  paper  re 
sembling  a  check  —  only  smaller. 

Well,  we  had  a  delightful  luncheon.  After 
luncheon  we  thought  of  going  to  the  matinee 
and  sitting  in  the  gallery,  but  Berri  all  at 
once  exclaimed,  as  if  the  idea  were  a  sort  of 
inspiration,  — 

80 


THE    DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  we  '11  do  ;  let 's  econo 
mize.  I  've  always  wanted  to  ;  they  say  you 
can  be  awfully  nice  and  contented  if  you  never 
spend  a  cent,  but  just  think  noble  thoughts." 

"  We  might  go  and  look  at  the  pictures  in 
the  Public  Library  and  then  cross  over  to  the 
Art  Museum,"  I  suggested.  "  It 's  free  on 
Saturdays,  you  know."  Berri  thought  that 
would  be  charming,  so  we  walked  up  Boylston 
Street,  stopping  at  a  florist's  on  the  way  to 
send  some  American  beauties  and  some  violets 
to  Mrs.  Hemington,  at  whose  house  we  dined 
that  Sunday  night.  (She  was  thrown  out  of  a 
carriage  the  other  day  and  sprained  her  thumb, 
and  we  thought  we  ought  to  take  some  notice 
of  it,  as  she  was  very  nice  about  asking  us 
to  come  to  Sunday  luncheon  whenever  we 
wanted  to.) 

Berrisford  did  n't  care  much  for  the  Puvis 
de  Chavannes  pictures  in  the  library,  —  that  is, 
after  he  found  out  that  they  were  as  finished 
as  they  were  ever  going  to  be.  At  first  he 
was  inclined  to  think  them  rather  promising, 
and  said  that  by  the  time  they  got  the  second 
and  third  coats  of  paint  on  they  would  no 
doubt  do  very  nicely. 

"  But  the  artist  is  dead,"  I  explained. 
"  And  anyhow,  he  always  painted  like  that." 
6  81 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"  Why  did  n't  some  one  speak  to  him  about 
it?"  said  Berri. 

"  There  would  n't   have  been  any  use ;  he 
painted  that  way  on  purpose.     It  was  his  style 
-  his  individuality,"  I  said. 

"  Do  you  like  it?"  he  suddenly  demanded. 
He  was  looking  at  me  very  intently,  and  I 
didn't  know  just  what  to  say;  for  although 
I  've  gone  to  see  the  pictures  several  times,  it 
never  occurred  to  me  to  ask  myself  whether 
I  really  liked  them  or  not.  I  supposed  — 
as  every  one  says  they  are  so  fine  —  that  I 
did. 

"  I  don't  mean  do  you  know  how  much 
they  cost,  or  what  people  said  about  them  in 
the  backs  of  magazines  when  they  were  first 
put  up.  What  I  want  to  know  is  —  Does 
looking  at  them  give  you  great  pleasure  ? " 

"  I  think  they  're  simply  preposterous,"  I 
said  ;  and  then  we  went  outdoors  again  and 
over  to  the  Art  Museum. 

We  spent  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  there, 
sitting  in  front  of  a  painting  by  Turner  called 
The  Slave  Ship,  and  listening  to  what  the 
people  who  passed  by  said  about  it.  I  did  n't 
think  there  was  very  much  to  it  —  it 's  merely 
some  small,  dark  brown  legs  in  a  storm  at  sea 
with  a  fire  burning.  But  the  people  who 

82 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

came  to  look  at  it  murmured  all  sorts  of  things 
in  low,  sad  voices,  and  several  of  them  read 
long  extracts  from  a  book  that  Berri  said  was 
by  Ruskin.  When  I  asked  him  how  he  knew, 
he  answered  that  it  couldn't  well  be  by  any 
one  else.  (A  great  many  people  say  that 
Berri 's  a  fool,  but  I  think  he  knows  an  awful 
lot.) 

It  makes  one  tired  and  hungry  to  criticise 
pictures  all  afternoon,  and  when  we  left  the 
gallery  Berri  sat  down  on  the  steps  and 
said  he  could  never  walk  all  the  way  to 
Cambridge  in  his  exhausted  condition ;  so 
once  more  we  found  ourselves  confronted  by 
famine. 

Now,  if  mamma  were  only  here  I  know 
I  could  explain  everything  to  her,  and  she 
would  n't  think  me  so  lacking  in  respect  for 
my  ancestors  —  so  utterly  lost  —  as  she  evi 
dently  does.  But  until  she  gets  my  letter 
(and  perhaps  even  afterward)  she  will  be  un 
happy  over  the  crude,  unqualified  fact  that  I 
pawned  my  watch. 

It  belonged  to  my  great-grandfather  and  is 
a  fine  old  thing  with  a  wreath  of  gold  and 
platinum  roses  on  its  round  gold  face.  I  got 
twenty-five  dollars  on  it.  Nobody  but  Berri 
would  have  known,  and  there  would  n't  have 

83 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

been  the  least  fuss  if  Uncle  Peter  had  n't  come 
to  town. 

He  was  in  Boston  on  business  and  appeared 
in  my  room  one  afternoon  a  few  days  after 
ward.  I  was  ever  so  glad  to  see  somebody 
from  home,  and  I  introduced  him  to  Berri, 
who  helped  me  show  him  the  gym  and  Sol 
diers'  Field  and  the  glass  flowers  and  pretty 
much  everything  open  to  visitors.  He  had 
a  lovely  time  and  asked  us  to  dinner  in  the 
evening. 

We  had  a  pleasant  dinner  —  only  Uncle 
Peter  kept  glancing  at  his  watch  every  few 
minutes  (he  was  leaving  on  an  early  train). 
Finally  he  said  :  "  What  time  is  it,  Tommy  ? 
I  'm  afraid  I  'm  slow." 

From  force  of  habit  I  felt  for  my  watch, 
and  then,  I  suppose,  I  must  have  looked 
queer,  for  Berrisford  began  to  chuckle,  and 
Uncle  Peter,  after  a  moment  of  mystifica 
tion,  jumped  hastily  to  a  conclusion  that, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  happened  to  be  cor 
rect.  He  rubbed  it  in  all  through  dinner 
and  on  the  way  to  the  station,  and  I  sup 
pose  when  he  reached  home  he  told  mamma 
the  first  thing.  For  the  evening  of  the  day 
he  arrived  I  got  a  telegram  from  mamma 
that  said  :  "  Redeem  watch  immediately. 

84 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

Keep  this  from  your  father ;  it  would  kill 
him." 

Of  course  Berri  had  to  elaborate  the  thing 
in  his  best  style  and  keep  Duggie  awake  for 
half  an  hour  while  he  told  him  about  it. 

"  I  made  it  very  graphic,"  he  said  to  me 
gloomily,  "but  somehow  or  other  it  didn't 
seem  to  take." 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


1 


crash  has  come,  and  the  Dean 
and  my  adviser,  two  or  three  in 
structors,  some  of  the  fellows  at  the 
table,  and  even  Berrisford  (this  last 
is  a  little  too  much),  have  all  taken  occasion 
to  inform  me  regretfully  that  they  foresaw  it 
from  the  first.  This  is  the  sort  of  thing  that 
makes  a  man  bitter.  How  did  I  know  what 
was  ahead  of  me?  If  they  all  realized  so  well 
that  I  was  going  to  flunk  the  hour  exams, 
why  did  n't  they  let  me  know  then  ?  It  might 
have  done  some  good  if  they  had  told  me  three 
weeks  ago  that  they  thought  me  stupid ;  but 
I  fail  to  see  the  point  of  their  giving  me  to 
understand  at  this  stage  of  the  game  that  they 
themselves  all  along  have  been  so  awfully 
clever.  Yet,  that 's  just  what  they  've  done  ; 
all  except  Duggie.  And  strangely  enough  it 
was  Duggie  that  I  most  dreaded.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  he  has  scarcely  mentioned  the 
subject.  When  I  went  into  his  room  one 
night  and  stood  around  for  a  while  without 
knowing  how  to  begin  and  finally  came  out 
with,  — 

86 


THE    DIARY   OF   A   FRESHMAN 

"  Well,  I  suppose  Berri  's  told  you  that 
I  didn't  get  through  a  single  exam?"  —  he 
merely  said,  — 

"  That 's  tough  luck  ;   I  'm  darned  sorry  ;  ' 
and   then  after  a  moment  he   added  :    "  Oh, 
well,  there  '11  be  some  more  coming  along  in 
February  ;   it  is  n't  as  if  they  were  n't  going 
to  let  you  have  another  whack  at  things." 

"  Of  course  I  know  it  is  n't  my  last  chance," 
I  answered  drearily  ;  "  but  I  can't  help  feel 
ing  that  the  fact  of  its  being  my  first  makes  it 
almost  as  bad.  It  starts  me  all  wrong  in  the 
opinion  of  the  Dean  and  my  adviser  and  the 
college  generally."  Somehow  I  could  n't  bring 
myself  to  tell  Duggie  what  I  thought,  and 
what,  in  a  measure,  I  still  think  —  namely, 
that  the  marks  I  got  were  most  unjust. 
There  's  something  about  Duggie  —  I  don't 
know  what  it  is  exactly  —  that  always  makes 
you  try  to  take  the  tone,  when  you  're  telling 
him  anything,  that  you  feel  he  would  take  if 
he  were  telling  the  same  thing  to  you.  This 
sounds  rather  complicated,  but  what  I  mean, 
for  instance,  is  that  if  he  got  E  in  all  his  exams 
and  thought  the  instructors  had  been  unjust, 
he  would  probably  go  and  have  it  out  with 
them,  but  he  would  n't  complain  to  any  one 
else.  Of  course  it 's  simply  nonsense  even  to 

87 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

pretend,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  that  Duggie 
could  flunk  in  anything  ;  but,  anyhow,  that 's 
what  I  mean. 

However,  I  did  n't  have  the  same  hesitation 
in  saying  to  Berrisford  that  I  considered  my 
self  pretty  badly  treated. 

"  I  know,  of  course,  that  I  did  n't  write 
clever  papers,"  I  told  him,  "but  I  at  least 
wrote  long  ones.  They  ought  to  give  me 
some  credit  for  that ;  enough  to  squeeze 
through  on,  anyhow."  Berri  agreed  with  me 
perfectly  that  all  the  instructors  were  unjust, 
yet  at  the  same  time  he  said,  with  a  peculiarly 
irritating,  judicial  manner  that  he  sometimes 
assumes  when  you  least  expect  it,  — 

"  But  I  can  understand  —  I  can  under 
stand.  It 's  most  unfortunate  —  but  it 's  very 
human  —  very  natural.  As  long  as  we  employ 
this  primitive,  inadequate  method  of  determin 
ing  the  amount  of  a  man's  knowledge,  we 
must  expect  to  collide  every  now  and  then 
with  the  personal  equation."  This  sounded 
like  a  new  superintendent  addressing  the  vil 
lage  school  board  for  the  first  time,  but  I 
did  n't  say  anything,  as  I  knew  there  was 
something  behind  it  that  Berri  didn't  care 
just  then  to  make  more  clear.  Berri  has 
exceedingly  definite  ideas  about  things,  but  he 

88 


THE   DIARY   OF  A   FRESHMAN 

"  aims  to  please;  "  he  finds  it  hard  to  express 
himself  and  at  the  same  time  to  make  every 
thing  come  out  pleasantly  in  the  end. 

"  What  you  say  is  no  doubt  important  and 
true,"  I  answered  ;  "  but  I  don't  know  what 
it  means." 

"  Why,  I  simply  mean  that  in  thinking  the 
matter  over  one  can't  get  around  the  fact 
that  ever  since  college  opened  you  've  been 
— r  what  shall  I  say  ?  People  have  been  more 
aware  of  you  than  your  size  would  seem  to 
justify  ;  you  've  been,  as  it  were,  a  cinder  in 
the  public  eye."  Berrisford  stopped  abruptly, 
and  for  a  moment  looked  sort  of  aghast. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  exclaimed, 
more  in  his  natural  tone  ;  c<  I  had  n't  any 
idea  it  was  coming  out  that  way  ;  that 's  the 
trouble  with  metaphors." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  've  been  more  of  a 
cinder  than  any  one  else — than  you've  been, 
for  instance,"  I  objected.  "  I  've  seen  more 
of  you  than  I  've  seen  of  any  one,  and  I  've 
been  seen  more  with  you,"  I  added. 

"  That 's  the  frightful  injustice  of  it,"  Ber 
risford  put  in  triumphantly.  "  That 's  what 
I  'm  trying  to  get  at."  (I  don't  believe  he 
was  at  all,  but  I  let  him  continue.)  "  We  've 
always  done  about  the  same  things  —  but  fate 

89 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

has  ordained  that  in  every  instance  you  were 
to  leave  your  impress  upon  the  wax  of  hostile 
opinion,  while  I  was  as  the  house  of  sand, 
effaced  by  Neptune's  briny  hand.  (Doesnt 
that  last  sound  exactly  like  Pope  at  his 
worst  ?)  You  see,  you  got  yourself  arrested 
at  the  very  beginning  of  things.  Of  course, 
socially  speaking,  it  was  a  brilliant  move  ;  it 
simply  made  you.  But  on  the  other  hand, 
I  don't  think  it  helped  very  much  to — to  — 
well,  to  bring  you  thoroughly  in  touch  with 
the  Faculty  ;  and  one  has  to  look  out  for  that. 
Then,  you  know,  of  all  the  hundreds  that 
swarmed  down  the  fire-escape  during  Pro 
fessor  Kinde's  lectures,  you  were  the  only 
one  who  had  the  misfortune  to  be  caught. 
This  naturally  made  the  fire-escape  impos 
sible  from  then  on,  and  once  more  turned  the 
garish  light  of  publicity  upon  you.  And  to 
cap  all  -  -  you  were  inspired  to  give  Mr. 
Much  the  fine  arts  book.  Why,  my  dear 
child,  your  name  is  a  household  word  !  " 

The  incident  of  the  fine  arts  book,  I  con 
fess,  was  enough  to  make  a  man  just  give  up 
and  turn  cynical. 

Mr,  Much  is  a  Boston  architect  who  comes 
out  from  town  twice  a  week  to  lecture  on 
ancient  art.  They  think  a  great  deal  of  him 

90 


THE    DIARY  OF   A  FRESHMAN 

in  Boston.  He  stands  at  the  head  of  his  pro 
fession  there,  because,  as  he 's  never  built 
anything,  even  the  most  critical  have  no 
grounds  for  complaint.  Berri  says  there  are 
lots  of  people  like  that  in  Boston,  — painters 
and  writers  and  musicians  who  are  really  very 
great,  but  think  it  more  refined  just  to  "  live" 
their  works.  He  meets  them  at  his  aunt's 
house,  where  they  often  gather  to  talk  it  all 
over.  Well,  at  the  first  lecture  Much  told 
us  to  buy  and  read  carefully  a  certain  treatise 
on  ancient  art  and  always  bring  it  to  the 
lectures,  as  he  would  refer  to  it  frequently. 
I  acted  on  his  advice  to  the  extent  of  examin 
ing  the  book  in  the  co-operative  store  one 
day ;  but  it  was  large  and  heavy  and  the 
illustrations  were  rather  old-fashioned,  and  it 
cost  two  dollars,  so  I  decided  I  could  get 
along  without  it.  Most  of  the  fellows  did 
the  same  thing,  and  the  impulsive  few  who 
actually  bought  it  got  tired  after  a  while 
of  lugging  it  to  the  lectures,  as  Much  did  n't 
show  any  intention  of  ever  referring  to  it. 

One  morning  as  I  was  strolling  over  to  hear 
him  tell  about  the  influence  of  Greek  some 
thing  or  other  on  something  else,  and  the 
deplorable  decadence  it  had  undergone  later 
at  the  hands  of  the  Romans,  Hemington 

91 


THE   DIARY  OF  A    FRESHMAN 

darted  out  of  a  bookstore  in  the  Square  and 
said :  "  If  you  're  going  to  Fine  Arts,  just 
take  this  book  and  give  it  to  Bertie  Stock- 
bridge."  (Bertie  is  his  roommate.)  "  I  'm 
going  to  cut ;  I  have  to  meet  my  father  in 
town."  I  took  the  book  and  pursued  my 
way. 

Now,  that  morning,  for  the  first  time,  Much, 
after  lecturing  for  about  half  an  hour,  sur 
prised  every  one  by  breaking  off  abruptly  and 
saying,  — 

"  There 's  a  very  helpful  note  on  page 
eighteen  of  Geschmitzenmenger's  Ancient  Art 
that  1  wish  you  would  all  turn  to."  Then 
after  a  moment  he  added  :  "As  some  of  us 
may  have  failed  to  bring  the  book  this  morn 
ing,  I  think  I  shall  read  the  note  in  question 
aloud."  He  came  to  the  edge  of  the  plat 
form  and  with  a  solicitous  smile  held  out  his 
hand ;  but  no  one  in  the  front  row  had  a  book 
to  lend  him.  His  smile  changed  to  an  ex 
pression  of  mild  disgust,  and  he  glanced  along 
the  second  row  of  seats.  No  one  responded, 
however,  and  he  swept  the  room  with  a  look 
of  annoyance,  exclaiming,  "Come  —  come," 
and  snapping  his  fingers  impatiently.  Just 
then  the  fellow  next  to  me  murmured  :  "  Will 
any  lady  or  gentleman  in  the  audience  kindly 

92 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

lend  me  a  high  hat,  three  rabbits,  and  a  dozen 
fresh  eggs?"  and  I  laughed.  And  as  I 
laughed,  I  leaned  over  to  hide  my  face — and 
there  on  my  lap  was  Geschmitzenmenger's 
Ancient  Art ;  after  Hemington  had  given  it 
to  me  I  was  so  interested  in  whether  he 
would  catch  his  car  or  not  that  I  had  never 
looked  at  it  at  all. 

"Is  it  possible  that  no  one  has  provided 
himself  with  the  book  I  requested  you  to  pro 
cure  ?  "  Mr.  Much  was  asking  incredulously. 
I  saw  my  chance  to  make  a  hit,  and  after  a 
moment  of  impressive  silence  I  arose  and 
walked  to  the  platform.  There  was  a  gust 
of  dumfounded  laughter,  followed  by  pro 
longed  applause.  As  I  went  back  to  my  seat 
all  the  fellows  who  could  reach  me  insisted 
on  patting  me  on  the  back  and  grasping  me 
by  the  hand.  It  was  most  embarrassing.  But 
the  really  sickening  part  of  it  was  to  come. 

Mr.  Much  made  a  little  speech  about  me, 
saying,  "  I  am  glad  that  there  is  at  least  one, 
etc.,  etc.,  etc.,"  and  when  he  had  finished  he 
opened  the  book  with  a  flourish  and  found,  as 
was  quite  natural,  that  none  of  the  leaves  had 
been  cut.  I  suppose  this  was  in  the  nature 
of  a  last  straw,  for  he  simply  stood  there  a 
minute,  fingering  the  pages  helplessly  and 

93 


:   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 


smiling  the  pitiful,  philosophic  smile  of  one 
who  has  lived  long  enough  to  have  had  even 
his  most  conservative  illusions  dispelled  ;  then 
he  turned  the  book  around  and  held  it  open 
for  every  one  to  howl  at,  and  finally  he  dis 
missed  us  with  a  hopeless  gesture  that  ex 
pressed  the  unutterable.  Whereupon  I  was 
seized  by  strong,  willing  hands  and  borne  aloft 
all  over  the  Yard,  followed  by  the  whole  class 
hooting  and  jeering. 

It  was  this  that  led  Berri  to  say  that  my 
name  had  become  a  household  word. 

"You  see,"  Berri  went  on,  "when  an  in 
structor  reads  my  examination  book,  for  in 
stance,  the  signature  of  the  writer  conveys 
nothing  to  him  ;  but  when  he  strikes  yours  — 
he  stops  and  exclaims,  '  Where  have  I  seen 
that  name  before  ? '  Then  he  sharpens  his 
pencil  to  its  finest  possible  point  and  gives 
you  E." 

"But  you  do  agree  with  me  that  it 's  ter 
ribly  unjust?  "  I  asked  him  ;  for  that,  after 
all,  seemed  to  be  the  main  thing. 

"Why,  of  course  it's  unjust,"  Berrisford 
answered  decidedly.  "  It 's  one  of  the  worst 
cases  that  has  ever  come  to  my  notice." 

It  did  n't  occur  to  me  until  afterward  that, 
as  these  were  our  first  examinations,  Berris- 

94 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


ford's  "  notice "  had  not  been  particularly 
extensive.  For  I  felt  so  badly  about  the 
whole  thing  that  it  was  agreeable  to  know 
that  an  intelligent  person  like  Berrisford 
believed  I  had  been  shabbily  treated.  It  was 
his  moral  support,  I  think,  that  gave  me  nerve 
enough  to  complain  to  my  adviser. 

My  adviser  is  a  young  man  and  seems  like 
an  appreciative,  well-disposed  sort  of  person 
(he  offered  me  a  cigar  after  I  had  sat  down  in 
his  study),  so  I  did  n't  have  any  difficulty  in 
telling  him  right  off  what  I  had  come  for. 

"  I  've  heard  from  my  hour  examinations,"  I 
said,  "  and  I  find  that  I  have  been  given  E 
in  all  of  them."  (I  was  careful  not  to  say 
that  I  had  failed  or  flunked,  or  had  n't  passed, 
as  that  was  not  the  impression  I  wished  to 
convey.) 

"  We  have  met  the  enemy  and  we  are 
theirs,"  he  answered  pleasantly.  "  Yes,  I 
heard  about  that,"  he  went  on,  "and  I  hoped 
you  would  come  in  to  see  me."  Then  he 
waited  awhile  —  until  the  clock  began  to  get 
noisy  — and  at  last  he  glanced  up  and  said,  — 

"What  was  it  doing  when  you  came  in? 
It  looked  like  snow  this  afternoon."  But  I 
had  n't  gone  there  to  discuss  meteorology,  so 
I  ignored  his  remark. 

95 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"  I  can  scarcely  think  I  could  have  failed  in 
everything,"  I  suggested. 

"  It  is  somewhat  incredible,  isn't  it?"  the 
young  man  murmured. 

"  I  never  stopped  writing  from  the  time  an 
examination  began  until  it  stopped,"  I  said. 

"  What  did  you  think  it  was  —  a  strength 
test  ?  "  he  asked  brutally. 

"  I  told  all  I  knew." 

"  Yes,"  he  acknowledged  ;  "  your  instruc 
tors  were  convinced  of  that." 

"  And  I  don't  think  I  got  enough  credit  for 
it.  If  I  had  the  books  here,  I  feel  sure  I 
could  make  this  plain." 

"  Well,  let 's  look  them  over,"  he  answered 
readily ;  and  much  to  my  astonishment  he 
went  to  his  desk  and  brought  back  all  my 
blue-books. 

I  confess  I  had  n't  expected  anything  quite 
so  definite  as  this,  but  I  tried  to  appear  as  if 
I  had  hoped  that  it  was  just  what  might  hap 
pen.  We  sat  down  side  by  side  and  read 
aloud  —  first  an  examination  question  (he  had 
provided  himself  with  a  full  set  of  the  papers) 
and  then  my  answer  to  it. 

"  '  Explain  polarized  light,'  "  he  read. 

"  '  The  subject  of  polarized  light,  as  I 
understand  it,  is  not  very  well  understood,'  " 

96 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


I  began  ;  at  which  my  adviser  put  his  hands 
to  his  head  and  rocked  to  and  fro. 

"  If  you  don't  mind,"  1  said,  "  I  think  I'd 
rather  begin  on  one  of  the  others ;  this  physics 
course  is  merely  to  make  up  a  condition,  and 
perhaps  I  've  not  devoted  very  much  time  to 
it ;  it  is  n't  a  fair  test."  So  we  took  up  the 
history  paper  and  read  the  first  question,  which 
was:  "What  was  the  Lombard  League?" 
My  answer  I  considered  rather  neat,  for  I  had 
written  :  "  The  Lombard  League  was  a  coali 
tion  formed  by  the  Lombards."  I  paused 
after  reading  it  and  glanced  at  my  adviser. 

"  It  was  a  simple  question,  and  I  gave  it  a 
simple  answer,"  I  murmured. 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  depreciate  yourself,  Mr. 
Wood,"  he  replied.  "Your  use  of  the  word 
'  coalition  '  is  masterly." 

"But  what  more  could  I  have  said?"  I 
protested. 

"  I  don't  think  you  could  have  said  any 
thing  more,"  he  answered  inscrutably. 

I  read  on  and  on,  and  he  interrupted  me 
only  twice  —  once  in  the  philosophy  course  to 
point  out  politely  that  what  I  constantly  re 
ferred  to  as  "  Hobbe's  Octopus "  ought  to 
be  "  Hobbe's  Leviathan,"  and  once  in  the 
questions  in  English  Literature,  to  explain 
7  97 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

that  somebody  or  other's  "  Apologia  Pro  Vita 
Sua"  was  not  —  as  I  had  translated  it  —  "  an 
apology  for  living  in  a  sewer."  (I  could  have 
killed  Berrisford  for  that  —  and  it  sounded  so 
plausible,  too  ;  for  any  one  who  lived  in  a 
sewer  would  naturally  apologize.)  He  let  me 
proceed,  and  after  a  time  I  could  n't  even 
bring  myself  to  stop  and  contest  the  decisions 
as  I  had  done  at  first  ;  for  I  dreaded  the  way 
he  had  of  making  my  most  serious  remarks 
sound  rather  childish.  So  I  rattled  on,  faster 
and  faster,  until  I  found  myself  mumbling  in 
a  low  {one,  without  pronouncing  half  the 
words  ;  and  then  I  suddenly  stopped  and  put 
the  blue-book  on  the  table  and  stared  across 
the  room  at  the  wall.  He  did  n't  express  any 
surprise,  which,  on  the  whole,  was  very  decent 
of  him,  and  after  a  minute  or  two  of  silence, 
during  which  he  gathered  up  the  evidence  and 
put  it  back  in  his  desk,  we  began  to  talk  foot 
ball  and  our  chances  of  winning  the  big  game. 
He  said  some  nice  things  about  Duggie, 
and  hoped  the  rumor  that  he  was  overtrained 
wasn't  true.  I  told  him  that  I  lived  in  the 
same  house  with  Duggie  and  knew  him  very 
well,  and  feared  it  was  true.  He  seemed  glad 
that  I  knew  Duggie.  I  stayed  for  about 
fifteen  minutes  so  as  not  to  seem  abrupt  or 

98 


THE    DIARY   OF  A   FRESHMAN 

angry  at  the  way  my  visit  had  turned  out,  and 
then  left.  We  did  n't  refer  to  the  exams 
again,  so  I  don't  see  exactly  how  I  can  ever 
right  the  wrong  they  have  done  me.  If  my 
adviser  were  a  different  kind  of  man,  I  could 
have  managed  it,  I  think. 

I  have  n't  seen  very  much  of  the  fellows 
lately,  except,  of  course,  at  meals  —  that  is 
to  say,  at  luncheon  and  dinner,  for  I  can't 
stand  their  comments  at  breakfast.  They 
greet  me  with  "  Hello,  old  man  —  what's  this 
I  hear  about  your  trying  for  the  Phi  Beta 
Kappa?'  "Is  it  true  that  you're  going 
to  get  your  degree  in  three  years?"  "I 
should  n't  go  in  for  a  summa  cum  if  I  were 
you  ;  a  magna  is  just  as  good  ;  "  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  They  evidently  find  it  very 
humorous,  for  it  never  fails  to  make  them  all 
laugh.  I  've  taken  to  breakfasting  at  The 
Holly  Tree,  as  I  don't  often  meet  any  one  I 
know  there.  I  did  one  morning,  however, 
come  across  the  little  instructor  who  had 
charge  of  the  Freshman  registration  and 
made  quavering  remarks  at  me  in  a  kind  of 
Elizabethan  dialect.  He 's  a  most  extra 
ordinary  person.  As  he  does  n't  say  more 
than  half  he  means,  and  as  I  don't  under 
stand  more  than  half  he  says,  I  find  conversa- 

99 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

tion  with  him  very  exhausting.  But  I  like 
him,  somehow. 

I  was  reading  a  newspaper  when  he  came  in 
and  did  n't  realize  that  he  was  standing  near 
me  until  I  heard  a  slow,  tremulous,  reproach 
ful  voice  saying,  — 

"Who's  been  sitting  in  my  chair?"  It 
seems  that  he  always  has  his  breakfast  at  the 
same  table  in  the  chair  that  I,  in  my  igno 
rance,  had  taken.  I  jumped  up,  of  course, 
and  after  he  had  sat  down  and  leaned  back, 
he  murmured  feebly,  "  I  'm  an  old  man  ;  but 
I  know  my  place."  I  didn't  know  why  he 
said  this,  as  he  is  n't  an  old  man  at  all ;  he 
can't  be  more  than  thirty-six  or  thirty-seven. 

"  I  'm  a  young  man,  but  I  seem  to  know 
your  place,  too,"  I  laughed,  as  I  looked 
around  for  another  chair. 

"  You  clever  boys  chaff  me  so,"  he  replied 
mournfully.  "You  mustn't  chaff  me  ;  I'm 
only  a  simple  villager."  Just  then  the  wait 
ress  appeared  at  a  hole  in  the  buff-colored 
fence  that  deludes  itself  into  thinking  it  dif 
ferentiates  the  kitchen  from  the  dining-room, 
and  the  little  man  pounded  softly  and  gently 
on  the  table,  exclaiming,  — 

"  What  ho  —  Katy  ;  some  sack  —  some 
sack  !  "  A  request  that  Katy  evidently  under- 

100 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

stood  better  than  I  did,  for  she  withdrew  and 
came  back  in  a  moment  with  a  cup  of  tea. 

"How  now,  Sir  John  —  is  not  my  hostess 
of  the  tavern  a  most  sweet  wench?"  the 
instructor  inquired  of  me  ;  which  caused  Katy 
—  who  had  lingered  to  hear  what  we  wanted 
for  breakfast  —  to  twist  a  corner  of  her  apron 
around  her  finger  and  gurgle  ecstatically,  — 

"  Now,  Mr.  Fleetwood,  you  stop." 

We  sat  there  talking  for  more  than  an  hour, 
and  I  don't  know  when  I  've  had  so  improving 
a  conversation.  We  talked  mostly  about 
books  and  plays.  Mr.  Fleetwood  seems  to 
care  a  great  deal  about  both  and  discussed 
them  differently  from  the  way  most  people  do. 
At  our  table  at  Mrs.  Brown's,  for  instance, 
a  book  or  a  play  is  always  either  "  rotten"  or 
a  "  corker."  But  Fleetwood  has  no  end  of 
things  to  tell  about  them.  He  seems  to  know 
all  the  people  who  do  the  writing  and  acting, 
and  remembers  all  the  clever  remarks  they  've 
made  to  him  at  various  times,  and  the  even 
cleverer  ones  he  made  in  reply.  Finally, 
when  I  got  up  to  go  he  relapsed  suddenly  into 
his  more  doleful  manner  and  said,  — 

"  You  will  come  to  my  Wednesday  Even 
ings —  won't  you?"  I  felt  as  if  I  ought 
to  have  known  what  they  were ;  but  I  'd 

101 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

never  heard  of  them,  so  1  suppose  I  looked 
mystified. 

"  The  lions  roar  at  my  Wednesday  Even 
ings,"  he  explained,  turning  on  the  tremolo 
in  his  voice,  "  but  they  won't  hurt  you  —  be 
cause  they  like  me.  They  '11  like  you,  too, 
if  you  '11  come."  I  said  I  should  like  to 
come  very  much. 

"  When  do  you  have  your  Wednesday  Even 
ings  ?'  I  asked;  for  he  was  so  dreadfully 
vague.  He  looked  at  me  vacantly  and  then 
stared  at  the  ceiling  awhile,  as  if  trying  to 
think. 

"  On  Wednesday  evenings,"  he  at  last  pet 
ulantly  quavered  ;  and  I  left,  for  I  began  to 
think  I  was  losing  my  mind. 

With  the  exception  of  Fleetwood  that 
morning  I  have  n't  met  any  one  else  I  know 
at  The  Holly  Tree.  To  tell  the  truth,  I 
haven't  been  very  sociable  of  late.  The 
result  of  the  exams  was  rather  depressing, 
and  besides  —  I  can't  help  realizing  that 
solitude  is  inexpensive,  if  nothing  else.  I 
don't  like  to  go  in  town  unless  I  can  pay 
my  share,  and,  as  I  have  n't  been  able  as  yet 
even  to  get  my  watch  out  of  hock,  in  spite  of 
mamma's  urgent  telegram,  I  don't  see  my 
way  to  going  to  the  theatre  and  eating  around 

102 


THE    DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

at  expensive  hotels.  Of  course  I  could  have 
the  tickets  charged  —  but  they  're  the  least 
of  it.  And  anyhow  I  owe  so  much  already  I 
hate  to  make  it  worse.  Berri  advised  me  to 
pawn  the  old-fashioned  fob  that  belongs  to 
my  watch  and  get  the  watch  back.  (The 
fob  has  a  huge  topaz  or  some  such  thing  in  it 
that  ought  to  bring  a  lot.)  But  I  'm  tired  of 
disposing  of  heirlooms. 

I  went  to  the  first  Symphony  in  Sanders' 
Theatre  the  other  night.  Duggie  gave  me 
his  ticket,  as  the  head  coach,  and  the  doctor 
who  looks  after  the  team  told  him  he  was  n't 
feeling  well  and  made  him  go  to  bed  instead. 
It  was  a  wonderful  concert,  and  I  enjoyed  it 
very  much,  although  I  could  n't  help  wonder 
ing  all  the  time  why  I  was  enjoying  it  ;  for  a 
man  who  looked  like  a  Skye  terrier  played 
beautiful,  sad  things  on  the  'cello  until  I  felt 
so  lonely  and  homesick  and  as  if  I  had  wasted 
my  life  and  broken  my  mother's  heart,  that  I 
began  to  sniff;  and  the  lady  who  was  sitting 
next  to  me  (she  had  a  huge  music  book  on  her 
lap  and  was  following  every  note  with  her 
finger  and  swaying  from  side  to  side  like  a 
cobra)  turned  and  glared  at  me. 

On  Saturday  afternoon  they  would  n't  let 
Duggie  play  in  the  game,  and  advised  him  to 

103 


THE   DIARY   OF   A  FRESHMAN 

go  home  for  Sunday.  He  came  into  my  room 
where  I  was  sitting  by  the  fire  feeling  pretty 
blue,  and  after  talking  awhile  said  he  wanted 
me  to  go  with  him.  Berrisford  came  in  while 
I  was  getting  ready,  and  when  he  saw  how 
little  I  was  taking  with  me  he  exclaimed  : 
"Good  Heavens,  man  —  you  can't  go  that 
way!  Duggie  wouldn't  mind,  and  neither 
would  his  family  ;  but  you  must  show  some 
consideration  for  the  servants.  And  you  'd 
better  take  a  piece  of  bread  in  your  pocket,  to 
munch  when  nobody  's  looking,  as  you  '11  get 
there  too  late  for  tea,  and  they  don't  dine 
until  sometime  during  the  middle  of  the 
night."  He  made  me  pack  my  dress-clothes 
(they  've  been  mended)  and  gave  me  his  hair 
brushes,  as  they  have  ivory  backs  with  black 
monograms  on  them.  I  can't  feel  thankful 
enough  that  he  warned  me  in  time ;  for  every 
thing  turned  out  just  as  he  said.  (Berri  is 
clever;  there's  no  getting  around  it.) 

I  can't  write  about  my  visit  to-night  ;  it 's 
too  late  to  do  justice  to  the  novel  and  delight 
ful  time  I  had.  I  enjoyed  every  minute  of  it ; 
even  the  thing  that  Duggie  told  me  on  Sunday 
morning  did  n't  spoil  it.  (Berri  said  he  prob 
ably  took  me  home  with  him  in  order  to  break 
the  news  gently.) 

104 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

We  had  been  sitting  on  the  rocks  in  the 
sun,  looking  out  to  sea  and  listening  to  the 
lazy  waves  break  over  the  beach  about  half  a 
mile  away  (at  that  distance  they  looked  like 
a  flock  of  sheep  playing  on  the  sand),  when 
Duggie  told  me  in  as  nice  a  way  as  one 
possibly  can  tell  disagreeable  news  that  the 
Administrative  Board  had  decided  to  put  me 
on  probation. 


105 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


VI 

IT 's  curious  how  little  you  know,  after 
all,  about  the  fellows  here  of  whom 
you  know  most.  As  time  goes  on  I 
suppose  you  gradually  learn  more  — 
although  I  've  been  told  by  upperclassmen 
that  they  've  seen  certain  fellows  every  day 
for  years,  and,  while  apparently  intimate  with 
them,  have  never  taken  the  trouble  to  find  out 
their  real  names  —  their  first  names,  that  is  to 
say.  And  as  for  knowing  what  their  families 
are  like  —  what  they  've  been  used  to  before 
they  came  to  college  —  you  can  only  guess  ; 
and  you  usually  guess  wrong.  At  least,  I  do. 
Berrisford,  however,  is  very  wonderful.  He 
has  a  mind  as  comprehensive  in  its  scope  as 
the  last  seventy-five  pages  of  an  unabridged 
dictionary,  and  his  talent  for  sizing  people 
up  and  telling  you  all  about  them  is  really 
remarkable.  He  is  the  last  person  in  the 
world,  though,  that  I  should  have  picked  out 
as  a  citizen  of  Salem,  and  one  day  I  told  him 
so.  He  explained  himself  by  saying  that  his 
mother  had  made  an  unfortunate  marriage. 
I  felt  very  sorry,  as  the  only  time  I  saw  his 
mother  I  thought  her  lovely 

106 


THE    DIARY   OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"  He  was  very  handsome  and  had  a  great 
deal  of  money,  and  was  the  best  and  most 
delightful  man  I  ever  knew,"  Berri  went  on. 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  anything  so  dreadfully 
unfortunate  in  all  that,"  I  ventured. 

"  Ah,  but  he  was  n't  from  Salem,"  Berri 
explained  simply.  "  He  did  n't  even  have  any 
cousins  there,  although  for  a  time  mamma's 
family  tried  to  delude  themselves  into  believ 
ing  they  were  on  the  track  of  some.  They 
traced  him  back  to  Humphrey  de  Bohun  and 
Elizabeth  Plantagenet,  but  there  they  lost 
the  scent ;  and  as  mamma's  people  —  perhaps 
you  know  —  came  from  the  King  of  Navarre 
.and  Urracca,  Heiress  of  Arragon,  why  —  of 
course  —  well,  you  know  how  people  talk.  It 
was  all  very  sad.  Naturally  mamma  never 
cared  to  live  in  Salem  after  that,  and  I  think 
my  grandparents  were  rather  relieved  that 
she  preferred  to  stay  most  of  the  time  in 
France.  They  used  to  come  over  and  see 
us  every  few  years,  but  of  course  no  one  in 
Salem  ever  knew  about  that ;  every  one  be 
lieved  that  grandfather  had  to  take  a  cure  at 
Carlsbad  —  at  least  that  was  what  was  given 
out  whenever  he  went  abroad.  I  suppose  I 
can't  help  seeming  somewhat  crude  now  and 
then,"  he  mused  dismally  ;  "  dilute  the  strain 

107 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

and  it 's  bound  to  show  sooner  or  later.  But 
there — I  don't  know  why  I've  told  you  all 
this  ;  it  is  n't  the  sort  of  thing  one  can  discuss 
with  everybody." 

"All  this"  was  intensely  interesting  and 
mysterious  to  me,  but  I  don't  think  I  can  ever 
get  on  to  it  entirely  ;  just  when  I  'm  begin 
ning  to  feel  that  I  've  mastered  the  details  I 
collide  with  a  perfectly  new  phase  and  find  I 
don't  know  anything  at  all.  My  ignorance 
has  led  to  several  discussions  with  Berri  —  the 
heated  kind  that  always  result  in  coldness. 
When  I  told  him,  for  instance,  that  I  'd  met 
Billy  in  town  one  morning  and  he  'd  taken  me 
home  for  luncheon,  Berri  said,  "  How  nice," 
and  proceeded  to  effect  a  union  of  his  eye 
brows  and  the  top  of  his  head. 

u  Now  what  on  earth  is  the  matter  with 
Billy  ?  '  I  exclaimed  indignantly,  for  I  'd 
enjoyed  my  luncheon  exceedingly,  and  the 
house  was  the  biggest  thing  I  had  ever  seen. 

"  Oh,  Billy  's  all  right.  He  's  really  very 
nice,  I  imagine — although,  of  course,  I  don't 
know  him  very  well,"  said  Berri.  "  Why  do 
you  ask  ?  " 

"  Who  wouldn't  ask  when  you  hang  your 
eyebrows  on  your  front  hair  that  way  at  the 
mere  mention  of  his  name?"  I  demanded. 

108 


THE    DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

"  Why  do  you  say  '  of  course,'  and  why 
do  you  always  make  a  point  of  the  fact 
that  you  don't  know  him  well?  Who  cares 
whether  you  do  or  not?"  I  pursued,  for  I 
wanted  to  clear  this  mystery  up  once  and 
for  all. 

"  Well,  you  seem  to  care  a  good  deal," 
Berrisford  laughed. 

"Oh,  not  personally,"  I  assured  him,  "only 
in  the  interest  of  science." 

We  squabbled  for  an  hour,  and  at  the  end 
of  that  time  I  had  discovered  that  (1)  Billy's 
family  spell  their  name  with  an  e  —  a  most 
incriminating  thing  to  do,  apparently,  and  (2) 
their  house  is  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the 
street  as  you  go  up,  which  (3)  makes  it  easier 
for  a  rich  man  to  pass  through  the  moat  into 
Heaven  than  to  draw  a  beam  of  recognition 
from  the  eye  of  his  neighbor.  It  was  all  very 
confusing  —  especially  as  Berrisford  insisted 
that  no  one  had  ever  told  him  these  things  — 
he  had  known  that  they  were  so  when  he 
came  into  the  world. 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  how  you  've  allowed 
yourself  to  be  so  friendly  with  me,"  I  won 
dered  sarcastically.  "  You  've  been  pretty 
reckless,  it  strikes  me.  How  do  you  know 
what  side  of  the  street  our  house  is  on  in 

109 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

Perugia,  Wisconsin  —  or  whether,  indeed,  we 
live  in  a  house  at  all  ?  " 

cc  Oh,  you  're  different,"  Berri  laughed. 

"  Different  from  what  ?  " 

"  From  everything  ;  that 's  why  I  'm  will 
ing  to  run  the  risk.  You  're  a  strange,  bar 
barous  thing,  and  I  like  you  immensely." 

That  was  all  the  satisfaction  I  got.  The 
reason  I  thought  of  this  was  because  Duggie 
and  I  discussed  it  among  other  things  that 
Sunday  morning  on  the  rocks. 

It  was  perfectly  evident  that  Duggie's  family 
lived  on  the  right  side  of  the  street,  and  didn't 
"  spell  their  name  with  an  e,"  although  I 
should  never  have  seen  them  in  this  light  if 
Berrisford  hadn't  opened  my  eyes  ("poisoned 
my  mind,"  Duggie  called  it).  Duggie's 
father  resembles  the  Duke  in  Little  Lord 
Fauntleroy,  and  his  mother — well,  his  mother 
is  like  Duggie  ;  one  could  n't  say  very  much 
more  than  that.  My  impression  of  them  is 
that  they  are  between  nineteen  and  twenty 
feet  high,  and  when  they  and  Duggie  and  his 
elder  sister  and  two  younger  brothers  were 
assembled,  they  looked  the  way  family  groups 
of  crowned  heads  ought  to  look  and  don't. 

The  sister  met  us  at  the  station  with  a  cart 
and  two  ponies. 

no 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"  They  told  me  to  take  care  of  myself," 
Duggie  said  to  her  sort  of  doubtfully. 

"  He  's  afraid  of  my  nags,"  she  explained 
to  me  as  I  clambered  up  beside  her. 

"  I  'm  afraid  of  your  driving,"  Duggie 
answered.  "  I  brought  Jack  Hollis  down 
here  to  rest  one  Saturday  and  Sunday,"  he 
said  to  me,  "and  after  she'd  whirled  him 
around  the  country  for  several  hours  on  two 
wheels  and  run  into  a  few  trees  and  spilled 
him  over  a  cliff,  the  poor  thing  went  back  to 
town  with  heart  disease  and  has  never  been 
the  same  since." 

Now,  of  course,  Duggie  merely  meant  to 
give  me  an  exaggerated  idea  of  his  sister's 
driving,  and  she,  of  course,  knew  that  his 
remark  was  quite  innocent ;  but  nevertheless 
she  began  to  blush  (it  was  then,  I  think,  that 
I  first  noticed  how  pretty  she  was)  and 
abruptly  gave  one  of  the  horses  a  slap  with 
the  whip  that  sent  us  plunging  and  nearly 
snapped  my  head  off. 

"  Hold  on,  Tommy,"  Duggie  called  to  me. 
"  This  is  what  I  go  through  every  time  I 
come  home."  Then,  as  a  flock  of  terrified 
hens  scuttled  shrieking  from  under  the  ponies' 
feet,  he  added  :  "  Tell  them  I  was  very  brave 
and  hopeful  to  the  end  and  that  my  last  words 

in 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

were  about  the  team."  But  pretty  soon  the 
horses  settled  down  into  a  fast,  steady  trot, 
and  we  bowled  along  the  prettiest  road  I  ve 
ever  seen  —  between  thick  woods,  and,  farther 
on,  great,  uneven  meadows  marked  off  in  ir 
regular  shapes  with  low  fences  of  rough  stone. 
The  meadows  to  the  right  ran  back  to  the 
woods,  but  the  ones  on  the  left  stretched  away 
ahead  of  us  into  a  vast  plain.  It  gave  me  a 
queer,  happy  feeling  that  I  can't  explain  —  as 
if  I  were  going  to  soar  out  of  the  cart  and 
over  the  meadows  —  straight  on  into  space. 
I  could  n't  imagine  where  such  a  sweep  of 
luminous  horizon  led  to  —  it  seemed  extraor 
dinary  to  come  across  anything  so  much  like 
a  prairie  in  New  England.  The  air,  too,  had 
a  lot  to  do  with  the  way  I  felt.  It  was  won 
derful  air  —  not  cold  exactly,  and  not  wet ; 
although  I  thought  every  minute  that  it  was 
going  to  be  both.  It  had  a  peculiar  smell  to 
it  that,  without  knowing  why,  I  liked.  I  filled 
my  lungs  with  it,  and  somehow  it  made  me 
feel  bigger  than  I  usually  do.  Then  all  at 
once  the  ponies  scampered  over  the  top  of  a 
little  incline,  and,  although  Miss  Sherwin  was 
telling  me  something,  I  gasped  out: 

"  Oh-h-h-h  —  it 's  the  ocean!"  and  forgot 
what  she  was  saying,  and  even  that  she  and 

112 


THE    DIARY   OF   A   FRESHMAN 

Duggie  and  the  cart  were  with  me  at  all. 
For  I  had  never  seen  it  before;  and  it  was 
right  there  in  front  of  me  —  brimming  over  in 
long,  slow,  green,  pillowy  things  that  rolled 
forward  and  slipped  back,  forward  and  back, 
until  all  at  once  they  got  top  heavy  and  lost 
control  of  themselves  and  tumbled  over  the 
edge  in  a  delirious  white  and  green  confusion 
that  slid  across  the  sand  in  swift,  foamy  tri 
angles  almost  up  to  our  wheels  and  made  the 
ponies  shrink  to  the  other  side  of  the  road  in  a 
sort  of  coquettish  dance.  Then  there  was  a 
very  slim,  refined- looking  lighthouse  on  a  gray 
rock  bordered  by  a  little  white  frill  where  it 
touched  the  water,  and  beyond  that,  putting 
out  to  sea,  was  a  great  ship  with  bulging  sails, 
and  a  steamer  that  left  a  lonely  trail  of  black 
smoke  sagging  after  it  for  miles. 

I  don't  know  how  long  I  stared  at  these 
things,  or  how  long  I  should  have  kept  on 
staring  at  them,  if  I  had  n't  happened  to 
glance  up  and  see  that  Miss  Sherwin  was 
looking  down  at  me  and  laughing.  I  think  she 
expected  me  to  say  something,  but  I  could  n't 
bring  myself  to  come  out  with  either  of  the 
only  two  things  that  occurred  to  me  —  one  of 
which  was  that  as  it  looked  so  exactly  as  I 
always  thought  it  was  going  to,  I  did  n't  see 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

why  I  felt  almost  like  bursting  into  tears  when 
we  came  over  the  hill-top  and  actually  saw  it ; 
and  the  other  was  —  that  I  should  have  very 
much  liked  to  get  down  and  taste  it.  How 
ever,  Miss  Sherwin  had  about  all  she  could 
do  to  attend  to  the  horses  and  did  n't  insist  on 
an  explanation  ;  so  we  said  hardly  anything 
all  the  rest  of  the  way,  and  just  let  the  wind 
blow  in  our  faces  and  watched  the  waves 
tumble  across  the  hard  sand  for  miles. 

At  first  nothing  at  the  Sherwins'  seemed  in 
the  least  real  to  me.  Even  Duggie  struck  me 
as  altogether  different,  although  he  was,  of 
course,  just  the  same  —  only  seen  in  unex 
pected  surroundings. 

First  of  all,  when  we  arrived,  a  groom 
popped  up  from  behind  a  hedge  and  took  the 
horses  ;  then  two  young  men  in  dark  green 
clothes  with  brass  buttons  and  yellow  waist 
coats  bustled  down  from  the  piazza  to  get  our 
things  out  of  the  cart.  They  were  rather 
handsome,  but  had  very  troubled  expressions, 
and  looked  as  if  they  worried  a  good  deal 
for  fear  they  should  n't  do  it  right.  Duggie 
nodded  to  them  over  his  shoulder,  and  I  think 
they  were  secretly  gratified  at  this  —  although 
I  suspect  them  of  having  worried  terribly  for 
fear  they  might  betray  it.  They  helped  us 

114 


THE    DIARY   OF  A   FRESHMAN 

off  with  our  coats  and  hats  when  we  got  in 
side,  which  is  all  well  enough,  and  makes  you 
feel  as  grand  as  you  do  in  a  barber-shop,  but 
has  its  disadvantages,  for  they  run  away  with 
everything  you  have,  and  lock  them  up  some 
where  in  a  safe,  and  when  you  want  to  go  out 
to  play  with  the  dogs  or  take  a  walk  and  think 
it  all  over,  you  usually  have  to  tell  Vincent  to 
tell  Dempsey  to  tell  Chamberlain  that  you 
would  like  a  hat. 

Miss  Sherwin  led  me  through  some  beauti 
ful  rooms,  and  as  we  walked  along  she  turned 
to  me  and  exclaimed,  — 

"  Aren't  you  fearfully  keen  for  your  tea ? " 
I  really  don't  care  in  the  least  for  tea  ;  in 
fact,  I  rather  dislike  it.  But  she  seemed  to 
take  it  so  for  granted  that  I  should  be  in  a 
sort  of  tea-guzzling  frenzy  by  half-past  five 
o'clock  that  I  hated  to  disappoint  her,  and 
was  going  to  say,  "  Oh,  yes  —  fearfully," 
when  it  flashed  through  me  that  I  could  make 
my  reply  more  elaborate  and  interesting  than 
this,  and  thought  it  would  be  rather  effective 
to  murmur,  "  One  gets  so  out  of  the  habit 
in  Cambridge."  Then  (all  this  took  only 
about  a  second)  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  'd 
never  in  my  whole  life  drunk  a  cup  of  tea  in 
the  afternoon  with  the  exception  of  the  time 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

that  Berrisford  had  some  people  out  to  his 
rooms.  So  I  merely  said  —  which  was  per 
fectly  true :  "I  don't  like  tea ;  but  I  like 
those  thin,  round  cakes  that  are  brown  at  the 
edges  and  yellow  in  the  middle."  This  made 
her  laugh,  and  I  was  glad  I  hadn't  said  the 
other  thing,  because  she  's  very  pretty  when 
she  laughs. 

One  corner  of  the  piazza  is  enclosed  in 
glass,  and  we  had  tea  out  there  where  we 
could  watch  the  sunset  and  the  pink  lights  on 
the  water  as  it  rolled  up  almost  to  the  lawn  in 
the  front  yard.  The  two  younger  brothers 
came  in  —  one  of  them  has  a  tutor  and  the 
other  goes  to  St.  Timothy's  —  and  while  we 
were  waiting  for  the  tea  things  to  be  brought, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sherwin  sauntered  across  the 
grass.  I  forget  whether  they  had  been  gather 
ing  orchids  in  the  conservatory  or  merely 
feeding  the  peacocks,  but  they  were  both  ex 
ceedingly  gracious  and  glad  to  see  me.  Yet 
their  very  way  of  taking  me  so  for  granted 
(just  as  Miss  Sherwin  had  about  the  tea)  made 
me  uncomfortable  at  first.  They  could  n't,  of 
course,  have  asked  me  to  explain  myself —  to 
tell  them  what  right  I  had  to  consume  cakes 
in  their  crystal  palace  and  enjoy  their  sunset ; 
but  the  mere  fact  that  they  did  n't  seem  to 

116 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

expect  me  to  justify  myself  in  any  way  made 
me  feel  like  an  impostor. 

The  man  who  brought  in  the  tea  things  had 
a  good  deal  to  do  with  this.  I  'm  quite  sure 
that  he  disapproved  of  me  from  the  first.  He 
was  older  than  the  two  who  met  us  at  the 
door,  and  I  think  he  had  probably  long  since 
ceased  to  worry  on  his  own  account  ;  but  he 
worried  a  lot  over  me.  Later  —  at  dinner  — 
he  just  gave  up  all  his  other  duties  and  stood 
behind  my  chair,  mentally  calculating  the 
chances  of  my  coming  out  even  or  behind 
the  game  in  the  matter  of  knives  and  forks. 
Whenever  I  used  too  many  or  too  few  (which 
I  did  constantly)  he  would  glide  away  and 
remedy  the  defect,  or  craftily  remove  the 
damning  evidence  of  my  inattention.  In  writ 
ing  to  mamma  about  my  visit  I  ended  my 
letter  by  saying  :  "I  had  a  delightful  time  — 
but  it  would  take  me  years  to  get  used  to  their 
butler."  To  which  mamma  replied  :  "  I  'm 
glad  you  enjoyed  yourself,  dear  ;  they  must 
live  charmingly.  But  I  simply  can't  see  why 
they  should  n't  have  good  butter.  It 's  so 
easy  to  get  it  now  almost  anywhere.  Perhaps 
they  don't  eat  it  themselves  and  don't  realize 
that  they  are  being  imposed  upon."  (This 
will  be  one  of  the  greatest  triumphs  of  papa's 

117 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

declining  years,  as  he  is  always  blowing  me  up 
about  my  handwriting.)  Whenever  Dempsey 
(the  other  servants  call  him  "  Mr.  Dempsey  ") 
came  into  the  glass  place  I  waited  in  a  sort 
of  trembling  eagerness,  half  expecting  him  to 
announce c<  Lord  and  Lady  Belgrave  and  Miss 
Muriel  Fitz  Desmond,"  but  the  only  person 
who  dropped  in  was  an  old  man  named  Snagg, 
and  although  Dempsey  made  as  much  out  of 
his  arrival  as  any  one  possibly  could  —  you 
can't,  after  all,  do  miracles  with  a  name  like 
Snagg.  However,  I  was  grateful  to  Mr. 
Snagg  for  coming,  as  it  brought  me  back  to 
earth  again. 

To  tell  the  truth,  before  the  evening  was 
finished  I  began  to  get  over  the  unreal  sensa 
tion  I  had  at  first,  and  saw  very  plainly  that 
whether  or  not  I  felt  at  home  depended  en 
tirely  on  me.  Duggie  and  his  family poor 

things  —  did  n't  have  any  idea  that  their 
Dempsey  paralyzed  me  with  fright,  or  that 
(just  as  Berri  had  predicted)  by  the  time  din 
ner  was  ready  I  was  shaky  in  the  knees  with 
hunger.  They  assumed  that  a  friend  of 
Duggie's  naturally  would  feel  at  home  and 
know  beforehand  what  was  going  to  happen. 
This  dawned  on  me  when  I  realized  that 
Duggie  was  exactly  as  he  always  is,  and  that 

118 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

the  others  were  probably  exactly  as  they  al 
ways  were,  and  I  couldn't  help  appreciating 
after  a  time  that  if  they  took  me  so  calmly,  it 
was  rather  unreasonable  of  me  not  to  feel  the 
same  way  about  them.  No  one  made  any 
effort  to  entertain  me,  which  is  very  nice  — 
after  you  get  used  to  it.  Mrs.  Sherwin  played 
solitaire  after  dinner,  while  Duggie  and  his 
sister  (she  was  embroidering  something)  and 
I  sat  around  a  fire  that  Miss  Sherwin  said 
was  built  of  driftwood  from  an  old  whaler, 
and  Duggie  declared  was  manufactured  with 
chemicals  by  a  shrewd  person  in  Maine.  I 
don't  know  who  was  right,  but  with  the  sea 
murmuring  just  outside  the  windows  and  com 
ing  down  every  now  and  then  with  a  great  thud 
on  the  little  beach  at  the  end  of  the  lawn,  I 
preferred  to  believe  in  the  old  whaler  theory. 
Mr.  Sherwin  would  appear  every  few  minutes 
to  read  us  something  he  had  come  across  in  a 
volume  of  literary  reminiscences  which  re 
minded  him  of  something  entirely  different 
that  had  happened  to  Thoreau  or  Emerson  or 
Hawthorne  or  Margaret  Fuller  —  all  of  whom 
he  had,  as  a  young  man,  known  very  well,  in 
deed.  He  was  delightful. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  as  no  one 
awoke   me,   I  found   when  I  got   downstairs 

119 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

that  it  was  after  ten  o'clock  and  that  every 
body,  with  the  exception  of  Duggie,  had  gone 
to  church.  Duggie  had  been  up  for  hours 
taking  a  long  walk  with  the  dogs.  He  came 
into  the  glass  place  on  the  piazza,  where  I  had 
breakfast,  and  read  aloud  about  the  game  of 
the  day  before.  Out-of-doors  it  was  almost 
as  warm  as  in  summer,  so  we  took  some  books 
and  strolled  along  a  cliff  to  a  sheltered  place 
on  the  rocks,  and  sat  down  in  the  sun.  I 
did  n't  feel  much  like  reading,  although  when 
you  're  sitting  out-of-doors  in  the  sun  I  think 
it 's  rather  pleasanter,  somehow,  to  have  a 
book  on  your  lap.  Duggie  had  a  shabby  little 
volume  that  he  read  for  a  minute  or  two  at  a 
time  ;  then  he  would  stop  for  five  or  ten  and 
look  at  the  sea  swirling  around  a  rock  away 
below  us.  After  a  while  I  became  curious  to 
know  what  the  book  was,  and  the  next  time 
he  closed  it  over  his  finger  I  reached  out  and 
took  it.  The  name  of  it  was  M.  Aurelius 
Antoninus,  and  it  seemed  to  be  a  series  of 
short,  disconnected  paragraphs  with  a  great 
many  footnotes.  A  good  many  of  the  para 
graphs  were  marked.  The  only  one  I  can 
remember  went  something  like  this,  — 

"  Don't  act  as  if  thou   wert  going  to   live 
ten  thousand  years.     Death  hangs  over  thee. 

120 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

While  thou  livest  —  while  it  is  in  thy  power, 
be  good." 

"  I  suppose  you  're  studying  this  for  some 
course,"  I  remarked  after  I  had  read  the  ex 
tract  aloud.  "  It's  so  solemn  I  didn't  think 
you  could  be  reading  it  for  fun,"  I  added. 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  am  reading  it  for  fun  ex 
actly,"  Duggie  laughed.  "  It  isn't  very  funny 
to  realize  the  force  of  that  paragraph  when 
there  are  so  many  things  you  hope  to  do." 

"  Well,  of  course  I  know  I  'm  not  going 
to  live  ten  thousand  years,  but  it 's  so  lovely 
down  here  that  I  don't  feel  a  bit  as  if  I 
were  n't,"  I  said,  lying  back  in  the  sun  and 
closing  rny  eyes. 

"That's  why  I  read  the  book,"  answered 
Duggie  ;  "  it 's  tremendously  easy  to  feel  that 
way  almost  anywhere  —  down  here  particu 
larly."  He  was  more  serious,  I  think,  than 
he  looked. 

"  Why  should  n't  one?"  I  asked.  But  he 
only  laughed  and  told  me  I  'd  better  read  the 
book,  too,  and  find  out. 

"  It  might  be  a  short  cut —  a  sort  of  reve 
lation.  It  took  me  a  good  while  to  arrive  at 
it  by  myself,"  he  added.  "  Why,  when  I  first 
went  to  Cambridge  I  had  an  idea  that  if  a 
man's  family  were  what 's  called  *  nice,'  and 

121 


THE    DIARY   OF   A  FRESHMAN 

well  known,  and  if  he  had  good  manners  and 
knew  a  lot  of  other  fellows  whose  families 
were  nice  and  well  known,  and  people  went 
around  saying  that  he  'd  make  the  first  ten  of 
the  Dickey,  and  be  elected  into  some  club  or 
other  —  I  had  an  idea  that  he  really  amounted 
to  a  great  deal." 

11  Well,  does  n't  he  ?  "  I  asked  boldly,  for 
all  that  seemed  to  me  pretty  fine. 

I  think  Duggie  was  going  to  answer  rather 
sharply,  but  he  must  have  decided  not  to,  for 
after  a  moment  he  said  : 

"  I  suppose  whether  he  does  or  not  de 
pends  on  the  point  of  view." 

"From  yours,  I  take  it,  he  doesn't?"  I 
mused. 

"  He  has  a  lot  in  his  favor  —  all  sorts  of 
opportunities  that  other  people  have  n't," 
Duggie  admitted,  "  but  I  've  come  to  look 
at  him  as  quite  unimportant  until  he  tries  at 
least  to  take  some  advantage  of  them.  Good 
Heavens  !  the  wheels  of  the  world  are  clogged 
with  'nice'  people,"  said  Duggie. 

"But  what  on  earth  can  a  person  do  in  a 
place  like  college,  for  instance?"  I  objected. 
"  You  're  there,  and  you  know  your  own  crowd, 
and  you  're  satisfied  with  it  because  it 's  aw 
fully  —  awfully "  I  hesitated. 

122 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"Awfully  nice,"  Duggie  laughed;  "and 
you  never  see  any  one  else,  and  they  're  all 
more  or  less  like  you  —  and  the  rest  of  your 
class  is  composed  of  grinds,  muckers,  and 

'  probably  very  decent  sort  of  chaps,  but ' " 

Here  Duggie  reached  over  and  gave  me  a 
push  that  nearly  sent  me  into  the  sea.  "  But 
dontche  care  —  I  did  n't  mean  to  get  started. 
And  anyhow  there  's  plenty  of  time." 

"  Only  ten  thousand  years,"  I  replied. 

"  Fleetwood's  Wednesday  Evenings  begin 
next  week.  If  you  want  to  remove  your  in 
famous  towhead  from  its  richly  upholstered 
barrel  for  a  minute,  you  'd  better  come 
around,"  he  suggested.  "  Fleetwood  had  his 
Wednesday  Evenings  on  Friday  last  year  be- 
cause  he  thought  it  was  more  quaint  —  but  I 
see  he  's  changed  back." 

"  He  told  me  if  I  came  I  should  hear  a  lion 
roar,"  I  said,  trying  to  remember  my  talk 
with  Fleetwood  at  The  Holly  Tree.  At  this 
Duggie  lay  back  and  shrieked  aloud. 

"  That  man  will  be  found  some  day  torn  into 
small,  neat  shreds,"  he  managed  to  say  at  last. 

"Why?"  I  asked  —  for  I  knew  he  liked 
Fleetwood. 

"  Why,  because  I  'm  the  lion,"  Duggie 
giggled. 

123 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


vn 

IT  must  be  several  weeks  since  I  've 
written  a  word  in  my  diary.  To  tell 
the  truth,  I  spend  so  much  time  writing 
other  things  —  things  that  are  printed 
and  sold  —  actually  --at  the  bookstores  — 
that  somehow  my  own  e very-day  affairs  don't 
seem  so  important  as  they  did.  In  a  word  — 
I  've  been  made  an  editor  of  the  Advocate.  It 
seems  so  wonderful  to  be  an  anything  of  any 
thing  with  my  name  in  print  on  the  front  page 
just  above  the  editorials  —  the  editorials  that, 
as  Duggie  says  sarcastically,  have  made  the 
President  and  the  University  what  they  are. 
Mamma  was  delighted  at  my  success,  and 
so  was  Mildred  —  although  she  tried  to  be 
funny  over  my  triolet,  When  Gladys  Sings,  in 
the  last  number,  and  wrote  me  that,  unless 
Gladys  were  the  name  of  a  quadruped  of  some 
kind,  amputation  here  and  there  would  have 
improved  her.  Even  papa  was  pleased,  I 
think,  although  my  first  story  made  him  very 
angry  and  he  wrote  me  a  terrible  letter  about 
it.  I  had  simply  described,  as  accurately  as 
I  could  remember  it,  the  time  he  went  as 
"  The  Silver-Tongued  Orator  from  Perugia  " 

124 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

to  make  a  political  speech  in  the  country  and 
took  Mildred  and  me  with  him.  I  told  about 
the  people  at  whose  house  we  stayed,  de 
scribed  the  house  and  recorded  our  conversa 
tions  at  dinner  and  supper.  That  was  really 
all  there  was  to  it.  I  considered  it  quite 
harmless.  The  Crimson  in  criticising  it  said  : 
"The  Jimsons  —  a  humorous  sketch  by  a 
new  writer  —  is  the  only  ray  of  sunlight  in  a 
number  devoted  almost  exclusively  to  battle, 
murder,  and  sudden  death  ;"  a  Boston  paper 
reprinted  it  in  full,  and  papa  was  perfectly 
furious.  He  wrote  to  me  saying  (among  sev 
eral  pages  of  other  things) :  "  While  admitting 
that  your  description  of  my  friends  is  photo 
graphic  and,  in  an  inexpensive  and  altogether 
odious  fashion,  rather  amusing,  I  take  occa 
sion  to  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  —  it 
seems  to  have  escaped  you  —  that  they  are, 
after  all,  my  friends.  Furthermore  (passing 
from  the  purely  ethical  to  the  sternly  practical), 
it  is  among  just  these  people  that  you  will,  in 
the  not  very  distant  future,  be  engaged  in 
making  (or  trying  to  make)  a  living.  Kindly 
snatch  a  moment  or  two  from  your  literary 
pursuits  and  think  this  over  in  some  of  its 
more  grim  possibilities."  He  also  rather 
superfluously  informed  me  that  I  would  "be 

125 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

older  some  day  "  than  I  am  now.  (This  re 
mark,  by  the  way,  seems  to  have  a  peculiar 
fascination  for  men  who  have  passed  the  age 
of  fifty.)  I  showed  the  letter  to  Berri,  and 
when  he  had  finished  it  he  said  thoughtfully  : 
"  A  few  communications  like  this,  and  the 
keen  edge  of  one's  humor  would  become  a 
trifle  dulled." 

My  election  to  the  Advocate  came  about  in 
the  most  unexpected  way  possible.  It 's  queer 
how  things  happen.  Berri  was  sitting  in  my 
room  one  afternoon  apparently  reading  by  the 
fire.  Suddenly  he  looked  up  and  exclaimed  : 

"  Do  you  realize,  Tommy,  that  failure  is 
staring  us  in  the  face?" 

"  Why,  I  was  in  hopes  that  it  had  begun  to 
—  to  avert  its  gaze  somewhat,"  I  answered, 
for  I  thought  of  course  he  was  referring  to  the 
hour  exams  —  and  I  've  studied  a  little  every 
day  since  that  calamity.  "  Besides,"  I  added, 
"  I  don't  see  why  you  need  complain  ;  you 
got  through." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  talking  about  our  studies," 
Berri  said  impatiently  ;  "  they  're  a  detail. 
I  mean  that  we  don't  seem  to  be  getting  any 
where  ;  we  're  not  turning  our  accomplish 
ments  to  any  practical  account ;  we  're  not 
helping  the  college  any  and  making  ourselves 

126 


prominent  —  prominent  in  a  lawful  sense,  I 
mean." 

"  But  we  haven't  any  accomplishments,"  I 
objected.  "  We  both  tried  for  the  Glee  Club 
and  they  would  n't  have  us ;  and  everybody 
agreed  that  we  could  n't  play  football  —  al 
though  we  went  out  and  did  everything  they 
told  us  to.  We  can't  play  the  banjo  or  man 
dolin,  and  it 's  too  early  in  the  year  to  find  out 
whether  we  're  any  good  at  rowing  or  track 
athletics  or  baseball  ;  so  there  's  nothing  left. 
What  on  earth  can  a  person  do  who  hasn't 
any  talent  or  skill  or  ability  of  any  kind  ?  "  I 
demanded  gloomily. 

"  He  can  always  write,"  Berri  answered, 
"  and  he  can  always  be  an  editor." 

"  Oh  !  you  mean  we  ought  to  try  for  the 
Crimson  or  something." 

"  Well,  not  the  Crimson  exactly,"  Berris- 
ford  mused  ;  "  they  say  you  have  to  work  like 
anything  on  the  Crimson  ;  they  make  you 
rush  about  finding  out  when  things  are  going 
to  happen,  or  why  they  didn't  happen  when 
they  said  they  would.  That  would  be  awfully 
tiresome  —  because  of  course  you  would  n't 
care  whether  they  happened  or  not.  I  'd  just 
like  to  sit  around  and  edit ;  any  one  could  do 

that." 

127 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

"  I  should  think  you  'd  go  in  for  the  Lam 
poon,"  I  suggested  ;  for  I  remembered  that 
one  of  the  Lampoon  men  had  drawn  a  picture 
of  something  Berri  had  done.  Professor 
Snook,  who  knows  such  a  lot  about  folk-lore, 
was  going  to  give  a  lecture  in  Sever  Hall 
on  The  Devil.  It  was  announced  on  all  the 
bulletin  boards  by  means  of  printed  placards 
that  read  like  this  :  "  Thursday,  November  10, 
Professor  John  Snook  will  deliver  a  lecture 
on  The  Devil ;  "  and  under  the  one  outside 
of  University,  Berri  wrote  in  pencil  :  "  The 
first  of  a  series  on  personalities  that  have  in 
fluenced  me."  If  he  got  himself  noticed  by 
the  Lampoon  without  trying,  I  thought  there 
was  no  telling  what  he  could  do  if  he  put  his 
mind  to  it.  We  discussed  the  matter  awhile 
without,  however,  deciding  on  any  definite 
plan. 

That  night  we  went  to  Fleetwood's  first 
Wednesday  Evening,  and  there  I  was  in 
troduced  to —  But  I  'm  going  too  fast.  I  'd 
better  tell  about  the  Wednesday  Evening 
first. 

When  I  suggested  going  Berri  was  n't  par 
ticularly  enthusiastic  about  it.  He  said  he 
was  afraid  it  would  resemble  one  of  his  aunt's 
receptions  where  everybody  was  so  cultivated 

128 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


that  it  was  just  like  reading  Half  Hours  with 
the  Best  Authors  on  a  warm  Sunday  after 
noon.     I  had  an  idea  that  it  might  be  some 
thing  like  that  myself,  but  I  finally  persuaded 
Berri  to  go  with  me  notwithstanding. 

I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  myself  some 
times.  When  I  'm  with  Duggie  I  'm  inclined 
to  take  things  rather  seriously  ;  but  when  I  'm 
with  Berri  it  all  seems  like  a  joke.  They  're 
so  different,  and  yet  I  feel  as  if  I  were  so 
much  a  friend  of  both.  When  all  three  of  us 
happen  to  be  together  I  find  it  most  un 
comfortable.  Of  course  Berri  thought  the 
Wednesday  Evening  highly  amusing. 

It  was  rather  late  when  we  arrived,  and 
the  room  was  crowded  with  fellows,  very  few 
of  whom  I  had  ever  seen  before.  Fleetwood 
opened  the  door  for  us,  with  a  Shakespearian 
quotation  trembling  aptly  on  his  lips,  and  led 
us  through  the  crowd  to  his  inside  room,  where 
we  left  our  coats  and  hats. 

"  You  must  come  and  meet  my  lions  and 
hear  them  roar,"  Fleetwood  said  to  us ;  and 
was  about  to  take  us  across  the  study  to 
where  Duggie  was  standing  against  the  wall 
with  a  semicircle  of  Freshmen  in  front  of 
him  drinking  in  his  every  word. 

"  Good  gracious,  man  —  you  don't  mean  to 

9  I2Q 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

say  you  got  me  away  over  here  on  a  cold 
night  to  hear  Duggie  Sherwin  drool  about 
football/'  Berri  exclaimed  to  me.  Mr.  Fleet- 
wood  laughed,  and  seemed  to  think  this  was 
very  funny. 

"  Just  look  how  glad  of  the  chance  all  those 
others  are,  you  unappreciative  boy,"  he  said 
reproachfully  to  Berri. 

"  Oh,  well  —  he  doesn't  wake  them  up  at 
a  horrible  hour  every  morning  yelling  like  a 
fiend  under  a  shower-bath,"  Berri  explained. 
"  You  see,  the  lion  and  I  occupy  the  same 
lair  —  or  do  lions  live  in  a  den  ?  I  never  can 
remember." 

"  Perhaps  Mr.  Ranny  knows,"  said  Fleet- 
wood  to  a  tall,  studious-looking  fellow  who 
had  evidently  planned  his  escape  and  was  in 
the  act  of  shyly  carrying  it  out  when  Fleet- 
wood  detained  him.  Fleetwood  introduced 
him  to  Berri  and  slid  away  to  greet  another 
man  who  had  just  opened  the  door.  As  I 
moved  off  to  join  Duggie's  group,  Berri  gave 
me  a  queer  look  ;  but  a  few  minutes  later  I 
happened  to  glance  across  at  him,  and  as  the 
tall  fellow  was  laughing  at  everything  Berri 
said  I  knew  that  Berri  was  enjoying  himself. 

Duggie  shook  hands  with  me  and  said  good- 
evening  just  as  if  he  had  n't  been  in  my  room 

130 


THE    DIARY   OF  A   FRESHMAN 

sprawling  on  the  floor  in  front  of  the  fire  an 
hour  and  a  half  before,  and  then  went  on  with 
what  he  was  saying  to  the  fellows  nearest  him 
—  some  polite  looking  little  chaps  ;  Fresh 
men,  although  I  had  never  seen  them  before. 
The  talk  was  mostly  about  football ;  the 
games  that  had  been  played  and  the  ones  still 
to  come  —  comparative  scores  and  the  merits 
and  defects  of  players  at  other  colleges.  Of 
course  Duggie  could  discuss  only  with  the 
fellows  just  in  front  of  him.  I  think  he  real 
ized  how  embarrassing  it  would  be  to  any  of 
the  others  if  he  were  to  single  them  out  and 
address  remarks  to  them.  Besides,  it  might 
have  sounded  patronizing.  Yet  every  now 
and  then,  when  whoever  was  talking  happened 
to  say  something  funny,  Duggie  somehow  in 
cluded  the  whole  crowd  in  the  laugh  that 
followed.  I  think  he  managed  it  by  catching 
everybody's  eye  at  just  the  right  time ;  I  know 
that  —  although  I  was  merely  standing  there 
looking  on  —  whenever  he  caught  mine,  I  felt 
as  if  I  were  right  in  the  game.  This  often 
had  the  effect  of  causing  a  fellow  to  say  some 
thing  to  the  fellow  next  to  him,  and  so  it 
frequently  happened  that  people  who  had 
joined  the  group  merely  to  rubber  in  embar 
rassed  silence  at  Duggie,  found  themselves 


making  acquaintances  and  talking  on  their 
own  account.  I  learned  afterward  that  this 
was  precisely  what  Fleetwood  and  Duggie 
counted  on.  It  was  Fleetwood's  chief  reason 
for  having  Duggie  as  often  as  he  could  at 
his  Wednesday  Evenings,  and  Duggie's  only 
reason  for  going. 

Across  the  room  there  was  another  centre 
of  attraction  in  the  person  of  a  fine  but  rather 
pompous-looking  old  gentleman  with  a  pink 
face  and  a  snowy  beard.  His  audience  was 
more  talkative  than  Duggie's,  but  not  so 
large.  It  was  n't  composed  entirely  of  Fresh 
men,  either.  As  I  was  standing  there  making 
up  my  mind  to  slide  through  the  intervening 
crowd  and  find  out  what  he  was  talking  about, 
Berri,  who  had  been  standing  with  a  rapt  ex 
pression  on  the  outskirts  of  the  second  group, 
detached  himself  and  came  over  to  me.  "  You 
simply  must  come  and  listen  to  him  ;  it 's  per 
fectly  thrilling,"  he  said. 

"  I  was  just  going  over  to  investigate,"  I 
answered.  "  What 's  his  specialty?  " 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  describe  it  exactly," 
Berri  replied;  "he's  a  kind  of  connecting 
link  with  the  literary  past  ;  he  's  what  phono 
graphs  will  be  when  we  get  them  perfected. 
Dickens  once  borrowed  his  opera-glasses  on 

132 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

the  evening  of  the  twelfth  of  June  years  ago, 
and  some  years  later  Thackeray  stepped  on  his 
foot  at  a  dinner-party.  He  remembers  what 
they  said  perfectly,  and  gets  asked  out  a  lot. 
I  've  heard  him  tell  the  Thackeray  thing  twice 
now,  and  he  's  going  to  do  it  again  in  a  minute 
if  there's  enough  of  a  crowd." 

We  went  over  and  listened  to  him  for  ever 
so  long,  and  although  Dickens  had  borrowed 
his  opera-glasses  and  Thackeray  had  stepped 
on  his  foot,  he  was  n't  in  the  least  what  Berri 
had  led  me  to  expect.  I  found  him  delightful 
and  was  sorry  when  he  had  to  leave.  (Berri 
insisted  that  he  was  driven  rapidly  to  town  to 
the  Palace  Theatre,  where  he  was  due  to  ap 
pear  at  1050  —  between  a  trick  bicyclist  and 
a  Dutch  comedian.) 

When  we  had  said  good-by  to  him,  Fleet- 
wood  came  up  bringing  a  pleasant-looking 
chap  with  spectacles.  (I  had  often  seen  him 
in  the  Yard.) 

"  This  is  Mr.  Paul,"  Fleetwood  said  to  me, 
"  and  he  wants  to  have  words  with  you." 

Mr.  Paul  talked  about  the  old  gentleman 
for  a  minute  or  two,  and  then  said  quite 
abruptly,  — 

"  We  've  been  reading  your  stuff  in  English 
83,  Mr.  Wood,  and  the  fellows  think  it 's 


THE   DIARY   OF   A  FRESHMAN 

darned  good.  I  wish  you  'd  let  us  have  some 
of  it  for  the  Advocate." 

I  was  so  astonished  I  just  looked  at  him. 
Then  he  went  on  to  say  that  he  wanted 
to  print  two  of  my  themes  —  The  Jimsons, 
and  a  description  of  something  I  saw  one 
night  in  town  —  and  that  if  I  wrote  a  third 
and  it  turned  out  to  be  good,  they  would  make 
me  an  editor  !  He  had  said  that  the  Monthly 
had  designs  on  me  (imagine),  and  that  al 
though  the  Advocate  did  n't  often  do  things  so 
hastily,  it  (I  wonder  if  it 's  silly  of  me  to  write 
this  down?)  didn't  want  to  lose  me.  I  told 
him  that  I  'd  never  dreamed  of  getting  on  one 
of  the  papers  and  felt  as  if  he  were  making 
fun  of  me.  But  he  assured  me  he  was  n't. 

Duggie  and  Berrisford  and  I  walked  home 
together,  and  when  we  reached  rny  room 
Duggie  and  Berri  began  to  squabble  over 
Fleetwood's  Wednesday  Evenings,  and  talked 
and  talked  until  Duggie,  seeing  how  late  it 
was,  got  undressed  (talking  all  the  time)  and 
left  his  clothes  on  my  floor,  and  continued  the 
conversation  even  after  he  had  gone  into  his 
own  room,  turned  out  the  lights  and  got  into 
bed. 

Berri,  of  course,  started  out  by  saying,  — 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  what  's  the  good  of  it," 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

and  Duggie  immediately  undertook  to  en 
lighten  him.  Whereupon  Berri  —  fearing  that 
the  attempt  might  be  successful  —  took  an 
other  tack  and  exclaimed, — 

"I  should  think  you'd  feel  so  ridiculous 
backed  up  there  against  the  wall  making  con 
versation  —  or  perhaps  you  enjoy  being  an 
object  of  curiosity."  Duggie  got  very  red, 
and  I  think  he  considered  Berri  unusually 
cheeky  and  impertinent,  but  he  didn't  snub 
him  and  I  'm  sure  Berri  was  disappointed  ;  he 
loves  to  irritate  people. 

"  I  don't  think  my  feelings  in  the  matter 
are  particularly  important,"  Duggie  answered. 
"  I  don't  see  why  you  haul  them  in." 

"Oh!  but  they  are,"  Berri  insisted.  "I 
was  n't  in  the  least  interested  in  you  when 
you  were  over  there  doing  your  stunts  ;  but 
here,  at  home  —  in  the  bosom  of  the  family, 
so  to  speak  —  you  're  perfectly  absorbing. 
Now,  honestly,  Duggie,  don't  you  think  that  in 
the  end  it  '11  do  you  a  lot  of  harm  —  exhibiting 
yourself  this  way,  and  sort  of  saying  to  your 
self :  '  I  am  the  only  Duggie  Sherwin  ;  when 
Fleetwood  tells  the  Freshmen  that  I  am  going 
to  be  there,  the  room  is  jammed '  —  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  For  of  course  that 's  what 
it  amounts  to." 


THE    DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

Duggie  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 
Then  he  leaned  forward  and  gave  Berrisford 
(who  was  sitting  on  the  floor  with  his  hands 
clasped  around  his  knees),  a  neat  little  push 
that  rolled  him  back  until  he  seemed  to  be 
standing  on  his  neck  and  groping  for  the  ceil 
ing  with  his  feet. 

"Berrisford,  sometimes  you  make  me  very, 
very  sick,"  Duggie  said  to  him. 

"But  own  up  like  a  man  —  isn't  that  the 
way  you  look  at  it  ?"  Berri  pursued  after  he 
had  collected  himself. 

"  Of  course  it  is  n't  —  idiot !  "  Duggie  de 
clared  indignantly.  "  Fleetwood  can't  do  the 
whole  thing  himself;  he  can't  turn  a  lot  of 
shy  kids  into  a  pen  and  say,  '  Now  talk  and 
get  to  know  one  another.'  So  he  asks  other 
people  to  help  him.  Once  in  a  while  he  asks 
me.  To-night  there  were  two  of  us." 

"Two  Little  Evas  — two  Uncle  Toms  — 
two  side-splitting  Topsies,"  Berri  giggled. 

"  Heaven  knows  I  can  talk  about  other 
things  than  football,"  Duggie  went  on,  "  but 
J  like  to  talk  about  it,  and  they  do,  too  —  so 
why  shouldn't  we?  And  when  they  have 
enough  of  me  they  get  to  talking  with  some 
one  else  —  some  one  in  their  own  class,  very 
likely  —  or  maybe  to  two  or  three.  Then 

136 


they  come  back  again  next  week,  and  after  a 
few  times  they  find  that  they  've  made  a  lot 
of  acquaintances,  and  perhaps  some  friends. 
And  there  you  are  !  Their  whole  four  years 
is  probably  changed  for  them  and  made  in 
finitely  more  worth  while,  merely  because 
Fleetwood  takes  the  trouble  to  round  them 
up  and  make  them  feel  that  somebody  really 
wants  them.  It 's  perfectly  natural  that  you 
should  think  his  Wednesdays  funny  and  bore- 
some  ;  you  always  had  dozens  of  rooms  to  go 
to  from  the  first  day  you  came  here,  and  some 
one  in  every  room  who  was  glad  to  see  you 
when  you  went.  But  I  tell  you  it  isn't  that 
way  with  everybody,  and  you  're  not  the  kind 
that  Fleetwood  tries  to  get  at." 

"Why  did  he  invite  me,  then?"  Berri 
asked. 

"  Upon  my  soul,  I  don't  know,"  Duggie 
declared  sarcastically,  "  but  I  'd  be  willing  to 
bet  that  if  I  see  him  first  he  won't  invite  you 
again,"  he  laughed. 

Then  Berri  admitted  that  Fleetwood's  idea 
was  well  enough  in  theory,  but  doubted  if  it 
really  worked. 

"  That  tall  spook  I  jollied  this  evening 
for  a  while  was  exceedingly  nice ;  but  I 
sha'n't  dash  off  and  call  on  him  to-morrow. 


I  don't  suppose  I'll  ever  see  him  again," 
Berri  said. 

"No,  probably  not,"  Duggie  assented, 
"  but  it 's  altogether  likely  that  after  time  has 
healed  the  wound  left  by  your  indifference,  he 
may  find  consolation  in  the  companionship  of 
some  one  else.  You  may  not  be  able  to  grasp 
the  fact,  Berri,  but  it  is  a  fact  that  *  there  are 
others.''  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  that  he 
began  to  get  ready  for  bed. 

"  Why  don't  you  open  a  salon  yourself  if 
you  think  they  're  such  '  life-sweeteners  '  ?  " 
Berri  called  after  him  when  he  went  into  his 
own  room. 

"  When  I  come  to  the  Law  School  next 
year,  I 'm  going  to,"  Duggie  shouted  back, 
"  but  you  'II  never  see  the  inside  of  it  ;  I  '11 
tell  you  that  right  now." 

I  did  n't  join  in  the  discussion  at  all,  for  I 
got  to  thinking  how  lucky  I  had  been  from  the 
first.  Mamma  overheard  an  old  woman  on  a 
piazza  say  that  she  made  the  "young  men" 
change  their  shoes  when  it  was  "  snow-in'  "  — 
and  that  was  all  there  was  to  it.  That  chance 
remark  led  to  my  living  in  the  same  house 
with  Duggie  and  Berri ;  and  what  a  differ 
ence  it  has  made !  Without  Berri  I  never  in 
the  world  should  have  known  such  a  lot  of 

138 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

people  in  so  short  a  time  ;  and  without  Duggie 
—  well,  I  think  I  understand  what  my  adviser 
meant  when  he  said  he  was  glad  I  knew 
Duggie. 

There  has  been  one  Advocate  meeting  since 
my  election  and  I  thought  it  was  great.  All 
the  editors  meet  in  the  Advocate  President's 
room  on  Tuesday  evening  to  hear  the  Secre 
tary  read  the  manuscripts  that  have  been  sent 
in  or  collected  from  the  English  courses  dur 
ing  the  week.  It  took  them  a  long  time  to 
settle  down  to  business  ;  in  fact  no  one  seemed 
to  want  to  hear  the  manuscripts  at  all — al 
though  I  secretly  thought  this  would  be  very 
interesting  —  and  several  fellows  made  re 
marks  and  tried  to  interrupt  (the  poetry  espe 
cially)  all  the  time  the  Secretary  was  reading. 
But  he  read  on  in  a  businesslike  voice  and  never 
paid  any  attention  to  them  except  once,  when 
he  grabbed  a  college  catalogue  from  the  table, 
and  without  looking  away  from  the  page  shied 
it  at  a  fellow  who  was  repeating  the  verses  the 
Secretary  was  trying  to  read  —  only  repeat 
ing  them  all  wrong  and  making  them  sound 
ridiculous.  In  the  case  of  most  of  the  contri 
butions  the  fellows  began  to  vote  "no"  before 
they  had  read  them  half  through  ;  but  several 
of  them  were  hard  to  decide  on,  and  the  board 

'39 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


had  a  lively  time  making  up  its  mind.  After 
the  reading  we  sat  around  the  fire  and  had 
beer  and  crackers  and  cheese  while  (as  several 
of  the  manuscripts  expressed  it)  "the  storm 
howled  without." 

A  few  afternoons  ago  the  Secretary  (he  has 
such  a  queer  name  —  it's  Duncan  Duncan), 
came  to  my  room  to  see  how  much  I  had  done 
on  a  story  I  was  writing.  It  was  a  little  after 
six  o'clock  when  he  got  up  to  go,  and  as  he 
was  on  his  way  to  dinner  at  Memorial  he 
asked  me  to  dine  with  him.  I  had  never  been 
to  Memorial  at  meal  time  and  was  glad  of  the 
chance  to  go.  It 's  a  very  interesting  experi 
ence,  although  I  think  I  prefer  the  compara 
tive  peacefulness  of  Mrs.  Brown's  as  a  usual 
thing. 

We  were  joined  in  the  Yard  by  a  friend  of 
Duncan's  who  sits  at  the  same  table.  Duncan 
is  a  thoughtful,  rather  dreamy  kind  of  person 
(he  writes  a  lot  of  poetry  for  the  Advocate), 
and  on  the  way  over  he  told  me  how  much  he 
enjoyed  living  at  Memorial  —  that  he  never 
got  tired  of  looking  up  at  the  stained-glass 
windows  and  the  severe  portraits. 

"  Even  with  the  crowd  and  clatter  there  's 
always  something  inspiring  about  its  length 
and  height,"  he  said.  "It  has  a  calmness 

140 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

and  dignity  that  quite  transcend  the  fact  of 
people's  eating  there.  It 's  so  academic." 

"  It's  so  cheap,"  the  other  fellow  amended  ; 
but  Duncan  did  n't  mind  him  and  became 
almost  sentimental  on  the  subject. 

Well,  I  felt  sorry  for  Duncan.  We  had 
hardly  begun  on  our  turkey  and  cranberry 
sauce  when  two  of  the  colored  waiters  got 
into  the  most  dreadful  fight  and  rushed  at 
each  other  with  drawn  forks.  All  the  men 
jumped  up  on  their  chairs  and  waved  their 
napkins  and  yelled:  "Down  in  front  —  down 
in  front!"  and  "  Trun  him  out!"  As  the 
newspapers  say  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies, 
"  A  scene  of  indescribable  confusion  ensued." 
It  was  several  minutes  before  the  combatants 
were  hustled  off  to  the  kitchen  and  we  could 
go  on  with  our  dinner.  Then  a  party  ap 
peared  in  the  visitors'  gallery  —  a  middle- 
aged  man,  two  women,  and  some  girls.  One 
of  the  girls  was  decidedly  pretty  and  attracted 
everybody's  attention  the  moment  she  leaned 
over  the  rail.  The  man,  however,  was  what 
caused  the  demonstration  in  the  first  place. 
He  did  n't  take  his  hat  off,  which  Duncan 
says  always  makes  trouble.  I  don't  think 
anybody  really  cares  one  way  or  the  other, 
but  it  furnishes  an  excuse  for  noise.  A  mur- 

141 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 


mur  of  disapproval  travelled  across  the  room 
and  grew  louder  and  louder  until  the  man 
with  a  genial  air  of  "  Ah — these  boys  have 
recognized  me,"  came  to  the  front  of  the  gal 
lery  and  bowed.  He  took  off  his  hat,  which 
produced  a  burst  of  applause  from  below,  and 
then  put  it  on  again,  which  changed  the  clap 
ping  of  hands  to  ominous  groans.  The  poor 
thing  looked  mystified  and  embarrassed,  and  I 
don't  know  how  it  would  have  ended  if  the 
pretty  girl  hadn't  just  at  that  instant  been 
inspired  to  pluck  a  big  rose  from  her  belt  and 
toss  it  over  the  rail.  It  fell  with  a  thud  in  the 
middle  of  our  table  and  twenty-four  eager 
hands  shot  out  to  seize  it.  I  grabbed  instinc 
tively  with  the  others,  and  with  the  others 
I  'm  exceedingly  ashamed  of  what  happened. 
The  tablecloth  and  all  the  dishes  were  swept 
off,  and  in  the  scrimmage  that  followed  the 
table  was  overturned.  I  have  a  terrifying, 
hideous  recollection  of  everybody  in  the  world 
kneeling  on  my  chest  and  of  something  warm 
and  wet  on  my  face  and  neck.  Then  Duncan 
was  saying , — 

"  It  's  all  right,  old  man  —  lie  perfectly 
still  ;  you  've  cut  yourself  a  little,  but  it 
doesn't  amount  to  anything.  Only  don't  ex 
ert  yourself."  He  looked  so  scared  and  white 

142 


that  I  began  to  be  frightened  myself  and  tried 
to  get  up.  But  he  and  some  of  the  other 
fellows  very  gently  restrained  me,  saying  that 
I  was  all  right  in  the  peculiar,  hurried  fashion 
that,  more  than  anything  else,  convinces  you 
that  you're  all  wrong.  Duncan's  friend  and 
another  fellow  were  mumbling  somewhere 
near  me ;  I  caught  these  fragments  of  their 
conversation  :  "It  must  be  an  artery  —  eight 
or  ten  minutes  if  it  is  n't  attended  to  —  Doctor 
Banning  and  Doctor  Merrick  —  telephoned  — 
don't  talk  so  loud  —  he  might  hear." 

Then  I  lay  quite  still  and  closed  my  eyes 
and  tried  to  think. 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


VIII 

E'KED  at  in  one  way,  it  was  a 
humiliating  thing  to  have  happen  ; 
but  on  the  other  hand,  after  it  was 
all  over,  I  was  able  to  derive  con 
siderable  satisfaction  from  the  fact  that  I 
had  n't  lost  my  presence  of  mind.  The  re 
marks  I  overheard  as  I  lay  on  the  floor  of 
Memorial  were  anything  but  reassuring.  I 
realized  that  in  the  scrimmage  for  the  rose 
I  had  been  submerged  in  china,  glass,  and 
cutlery,  —  that  some  of  these  things  had  sev 
ered  one  of  my  arteries  and  that  the  worst 
might  happen.  Of  course  I  was  very  much 
frightened  at  first,  and  it  was  then  that  I  tried 
to  get  up  ;  but  after  they  restrained  me,  I 
sank  back  and  began  to  think  of  poor  mamma. 
I  was  on  the  point  of  asking  for  writing  mate 
rials,  but  on  remembering  that  an  accident  of 
this  kind  was  always  attended  by  a  sort  of 
dreamy  weakness,  I  became — actually  —  so 
languid  that  I  recall  telling  myself  that  it 
would  be  of  no  use  —  I  would  n't  have 
strength  with  which  to  write,  even  if  a  pen 
were  thrust  into  my  hand.  So  I  went  on 
thinking  about  mamma  until  suddenly  a  man 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

with  a  pointed  beard  (I  have  since  learned  he 
was  a  medical  student  who  happened  to  be 
dining  with  some  friends  at  Memorial)  dropped 
on  one  knee  beside  me  and  with  rapid,  skilful 
fingers  began  to  open  my  shirt.  Then  he 
stopped  very  abruptly,  and  with  the  most  dis 
gusted  expression  I  ever  saw,  turned  toward 
the  light  and  examined  his  fingers.  After 
which  he  got  up,  brushed  the  dust  from  his 
knee,  and  said  in  a  loud,  peevish  voice,  — 

"  Tell  that  child  to  get  up  and  go  home  and 
wash  the  cranberry-sauce  off  his  face  and 
neck  and  put  on  clean  clothes,"  which  I  did 
as  quickly  as  possible  without  even  waiting  to 
say  good-bye  to  Duncan. 

They  don't  call  me  "  Tommy  Trusting  " 
any  more.  It  became  "Cranberry"  for  a 
day  or  two,  then  it  was  shortened  to  "  Cranny," 
and  now  it 's  "  Granny  "  —  "  Granny  Wood." 
Berri  says  that  it  has  a  ring  of  finality  to  it, 
and  that  I  '11  never  be  known  by  any  other 
name. 

Since  the  great  game  (I  don't  believe  I  've 
touched  upon  the  great  game),  the  college 
seems  to  have  settled  down  once  more  to  an 
every-day  sort  of  existence,  with  the  Christ 
mas  holidays  looming  up  now  and  then  in 
letters  from  home.  (As  I  was  going  out  this 

10  I45 


THE    DIARY   OF   A  FRESHMAN 

morning,  the  postman  met  me  at  the  gate  and 
gave  me  four  letters  with  the  Perugia  post 
mark.  It  s  funny  how  my  feelings  toward 
that  poor  man  vary.  When  he  hands  me  let 
ters  from  home,  I  think  he  's  one  of  the  nicest- 
looking  persons  I  ever  saw,  but  when  he  doles 
out  a  lot  of  bills,  he  seems  to  have  a  hard, 
cynical  expression  that  I  hate.  I  meet  him  at 
The  Holly  Tree  occasionally,  where  he  goes  to 
snatch  a  nourishing  breakfast  of  coffee  and 
lemon-pie.) 

I  have  n't  alluded  to  the  great  game  for 
several  reasons  —  the  chief  one  being  that  (as 
Berri  says  when  people  explain  why  they 
didn't  pass  certain  exams),  "I  dislike  post 
mortems."  I  suppose  it  might  have  been,  in 
various  ways,  a  more  distressing  event  than  it 
actually  was.  The  seats,  for  instance,  might 
have  collapsed  and  killed  all  the  spectators ; 
there  might  have  been  a  railway  collision  on 
the  way  down ;  there  might  have  been  an 
earthquake  or  a  tidal-wave.  That  none  of 
these  things  happened  is,  of  course,  cause  for 
congratulation  —  if  not  for  bonfires  and  red 
lights  on  Holmes'  Field.  It  is  always  well,  I 
suppose,  to  have  something  definite  to  rejoice 
over.  The  long  trip  in  the  train  back  to 
Boston  after  the  game,  with  every  one  hoarse 

146 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

and  tired  out  and  cross  and  depressed,  was  — 
But  I  had  determined  not  to  mention  it  at 
all. 

Poor  Duggie !  I  know  it  nearly  killed  him. 
He  has  tried  to  refer  to  it  philosophically  and 
calmly  in  my  room  once  or  twice  since  then ; 
but  he  never  gets  very  far.  He  knows  what 
he  wants  to  say  and  ought  to  say,  but  he  's  so 
intimate  with  Berri  and  me  that  I  don't  think 
he  altogether  trusts  himself  to  say  it.  I  ima 
gine  he  finds  it  easier  to  talk  to  comparative 
strangers.  I  was  afraid  at  first  that  Berri 
was  going  to  find  in  the  subject  a  sort  of  inex 
haustible  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  his 
genius  for  making  people  uncomfortable ;  but 
instead  of  that,  I  've  never  known  him  to  be 
so  nice.  For  the  first  time  he  has  allowed 
himself  to  show  some  of  the  admiration  for 
Duggie  that,  all  along,  I  'vefelt  sure  he  really 
has,  and  Duggie  appreciates  his  delicacy  — 
although  in  one  way  it  grates  on  him  almost 
as  much,  I  think,  as  if  Berri  were  just  as  he 
always  is. 

The  other  day  mamma  said  in  one  of  her 
letters,  "  I  often  wonder  how  you  spend 
your  days  ;  just  what  you  do  from  the  time 
you  go  out  to  breakfast  until  you  go  to  bed 
at — I  hesitate  to  think  what  o'clock/'  So 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

when  I  answered  her  letter  I  tried  to  put  in 
everything  I  did  that  day,  and  here  it  is:  — 

8.30  A.M.  —  Woke  up  in  the  midst  of  a 
terrible  dream  in  which  a  burglar  was  press 
ing  a  revolver  to  my  temple,  and  found  that 
beast,  Saga,  standing  by  my  bed  with  his 
cold,  moist  nose  against  my  cheek.  I  threw 
shoes  at  him  until  he  ran  away  yelping,  which 
hurt  Berri's  feelings  and  made  him  very  dis 
agreeable  to  Duggie  and  me  about  the  bath 
tub.  He  said  we  ought  to  let  him  have  his 
bath  first,  as  it  took  him  so  much  longer ! 

9.15.  Breakfast  at  The  Holly  Tree.  Berri 
came  with  me,  as  he  said  he  disliked  last 
chapters,  and  it  was  Mrs.  Brown's  day  for 
concluding  her  great  serial  story  entitled 
"  Corned  Beef."  At  The  Holly  Tree  we 
found  Mr.  Fleetwood,  who  hid  coquettishly 
behind  a  newspaper  when  he  saw  us  coming 
and  exclaimed,  — 

"Go  away,  —  go  away,  you  unreverend, 
clever  boy.  You  —  you!"  he  added,  shak 
ing  his  finger  at  Berri.  "  I  don't  mind  the 
other  one  —  the  little  one,"  he  went  on  when 
we  had  hung  up  our  coats  and  hats  and  went 
over  to  his  table  ;  "  but  you  have  '  a  tongue 
with  a  tang.'  I  sha'n't  ask  you  again  to  my 
Wednesday  Evenings."  Of  course  this  was 

148 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

perfect  fruit  for  Berri,  who  sat  down  at  once 
and  implored  Fleetwood  with  tears  in  his  eyes 
to  tell  him  what  he  had  done,  and  begged  him 
not  to  blight  his  (Berri's)  career  at  the  outset 
by  denying  him  admission  to  the  Wednesday 
Evenings.  He  vowed  that  he  felt  ever  so 
much  "older"  and  "  broader"  and  "thought- 
fuller,"  and  all  sorts  of  things  that  he  never 
in  the  world  will  feel,  just  for  going  that  once. 
But  Fleetwood  pretended  not  to  listen  to  him, 
and  went  on  reading  the  paper,  interrupting 
Berri  every  now  and  then  with:  "Viper  — 
viper  !  "  or  "  Serpent  —  serpent !  "  I  think 
he  really  likes  Berri  immensely,  but  is  shrewd 
enough  to  know  that  he  never  can  get  at  him 
by  being  serious.  We  had  a  very  jolly  break 
fast,  and  Berri  left  declaring  that  he  would  n't 
rest  until  he  had  induced  some  famous  man  to 
step  on  his  feet. 

"  Then  I  '11  be  a  lion  myself  and  I  sha'n't  go 
to  your  Wednesday  Evenings,  no  matter  how 
much  you  ask  me,"  he  said.  At  which  Fleet- 
wood  held  his  head  with  one  hand  and  waved 
toward  the  door  with  the  other,  moaning,  — 

"  Go  away,  —  go  away,  both  of  you  ! 
You  've  caused  me  to  drink  four  cups  of  tea 
without  knowing  what  I  was  doing.  I  think 
you  want  to  drive  me  mad." 

149 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

10.30.  Neither  of  us  had  a  lecture  until 
eleven  o'clock,  and  we  were  looking  at  some 
new  books  in  a  window  on  the  Square  when 
Hemington  appeared.  He  touched  us  on  the 
shoulders  in  a  confidential  kind  of  way,  and  then 
looking  furtively  at  the  people  who  were  wait 
ing  near  by  for  a  car,  lowered  his  voice  mysteri 
ously,  and  asked  us  to  go  with  him  to  his  room. 

"  I  have  something  over  there  that  I  don't 
mind  letting  you  in  on,"  he  said.  "  Only 
you  must  n't  of  course  speak  of  it ;  it  might 
get  us  into  a  good  deal  of  trouble  with  the 
government." 

This  sounded  rather  exciting,  so  we  hurried 
to  Hemington's  room  without  talking  much 
on  the  way  over,  as  Hemington  did  n't  com 
municate  anything  further  and  we,  of  course, 
could  n't  help  wondering  what  he  was  going 
to  show  us.  When  we  got  into  his  study,  he 
gave  a  peculiar  rap  on  his  bedroom  door  and 
out  came  a  strange-looking  little  person,  - 
short  and  plump,  with  black,  curly  hair  and 
big  black  eyes  and  a  sallow,  almost  dusky 
skin.  A  bright  red  handkerchief  knotted 
loosely  around  his  neck  gave  him  a  pictur 
esque,  a  tropical  air,  that,  considering  we 
were  in  Hemington's  prosaic  study  in  Stough- 
ton  Hall,  thrilled  us  from  the  first. 

150 


"  This  is  Amadeo,"  said  Remington.  (Hemi 
is  taking  Spanish  I.,  and  I  think  he  enjoyed 
as  much  as  anything  pronouncing  the  name 
in  a  deep,  rich,  careless  sort  of  way  ;  he 
hauled  it  in  every  other  second.)  "  It 's  all 
right,  Amadeo,"  he  went  on,  for  although 
Amadeo  smiled  a  most  beautiful  smile  full  of 
very  regular  and  dazzling  teeth,  he  turned  to 
Hemington  with  a  look  intended  to  express 
inquiry  and  misgiving.  "  You  can  trust  these 
men  ;  they  are  your  friends." 

At  this  Amadeo  flashed  his  teeth  again  and 
kissed  Berri's  hands.  Berri  looked  exceed 
ingly  shocked,  and  I  craftily  put  mine  in  my 
pocket. 

11  He  's  a  deserter,"  Hemington  explained  ; 
for  Berri  began  to  rub  his  knuckles  with  a 
handkerchief,  Amadeo  looked  hurt,  and  there 
was  a  moment  of  embarrassment  all  round. 
"  He  escaped  from  a  merchantman  that  got 

in  a  few  days  ago  from "  (As  I  don't 

take  Spanish  I.,  it 's  impossible  for  me  to  give 
the  luscious  name  of  the  island  that  Amadeo's 
boat  had  come  from.  It  sounded  something 
like  Santa  Bawthawthawthoth.)  "  The  skip 
per  was  a  brute  —  a  regular  old  timer,  and 
Amadeo  could  n't  stand  it  any  longer.  He 
and  a  pal  swam  ashore  with  all  their  worldly 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

possessions  on  their  backs  done  up  in  tarpau 
lins  (they  were  fired  at  six  times  when  they 
were  in  the  water),  and  his  possessions  "  (here 
Remington  lowered  his  voice  and  Amadeo 
glanced  sharply  at  the  door)  "  consisted  of 
three  or  four  hundred  of  the  best  cigars  you 
ever  smoked  in  your  life.  He  got  them  at 
Santa  Bawthawthawthoth,  and  as  he  has  n't  a 
cent,  of  course  he  wants  to  sell  them.  He 
asks  about  a  fourth  as  much  as  you  have  to 
pay  for  a  perfectly  wretched  cigar  at  any  place 
in  town.  They  naturally  did  n't  go  through 
the  custom  house,  and  that 's  why  you  have  to 
keep  it  all  so  quiet." 

Amadeo  went  into  Remington's  bedroom 
and  returned  with  an  oil-skin  bundle  that 
looked  like  those  round,  flat  cheeses  you  see 
under  cages  of  green  wire  in  grocery  stores. 
He  untied  it  (glancing  apprehensively  at  the 
door  from  time  to  time,  and  once  clasping  it  to 
his  breast  when  he  heard  a  step  in  the  hall 
outside),  and  disclosed  the  smuggled  treasure. 
I  have  n't  begun  to  smoke  yet,  but  Berri  and 
Hemington  each  took  a  cigar,  and  after  puffing 
away  for  several  seconds,  Berri  said  his  was 
simply  delicious.  It  certainly  smelled  very 
good,  and  I  was  very  sorry  I  had  to  run  away 
in  a  few  minutes  to  my  eleven  o'clock  lecture, 

152 


THE   DIARY   OF  A  FRESHMAN 

for  Amadeo  began  to  tell  of  some  of  his  expe 
riences  on  the  merchantman,  and  they  were 
pretty  fierce.  Berri  cut  his  lecture,  and  I 
should  have,  if  I  were  n't  on  probation.  One 
of  the  penalties  of  probation  is  that  you  can't 
cut  without  an  excuse  that  holds  water  at 
every  pore. 

11-12  M.  Listened  to  a  lecture  —  with  ex 
periments  —  on  physics.  The  experiments 
did  n't  turn  out  well,  and  the  instructor  seemed 
much  annoyed.  I  don't  think  he  has  the  right 
idea.  My  experiments  in  the  laboratory  al 
ways  give  beautiful  results.  I  find  out  first 
of  all  from  the  book  what  Nature  is  expected 
to  do  ;  and  then  I  see  that  she  does  it.  I  'm 
one  of  the  most  successful  little  experimenters 
in  the  class. 

12  M.  Ran  back  to  Remington's  room. 
Amadeo  had  gone,  but  Berri  and  Hemington 
had  bought  all  the  cigars.  Berri  had  learned 
a  lot  of  Spanish  in  my  absence,  and  could  say 
"  Amadeo  "  and  "  Santa  Bawthawthawthoth  " 
with  almost  as  fluent  a  hot-mush  effect  as 
Hemington  could.  He  packed  his  share  of 
the  cigars  in  Henri's  dress-suit  case,  and  we 
took  them  over  to  our  house. 

1  P.M.  Went  to  luncheon  at  Mrs.  Brown's, 
and  tried  to  borrow  a  shirt  from  everybody 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

at  the  table,  but  without  success.  Duncan 
Duncan  asked  me  to  a  tea  in  his  rooms  this 
afternoon  to  meet  his  mother  and  sisters  and 
some  girls  from  town.  I  promised  to  go,  but 
Miss  Shedd,  my  washerwoman,  slipped  on  the 
ice  and  hurt  herself  and  has  n't  been  able  to 
do  my  clothes  for  more  than  two  weeks,  and  1 
discovered  this  morning  that  there  were  no 
more  shirts  in  my  drawer.  Berri  or  Duggie 
would  lend  me  one,  but  Berri  unfortunately 
hasn't  any,  either,  as  Miss  Shedd  does  his 
washing  too,  and  of  course  anything  of 
Duggie's  on  me  is  ridiculous.  I  wore  a  suit 
of  his  pajamas  one  night  when  I  had  a  cold, 
as  they  're  thicker  than  mine,  and  the  shoul 
ders  hung  down  around  my  elbows.  Well, 
nobody  would  lend  me  a  shirt —  for  no  reason 
in  the  world  except  that  they  realized  I  sim 
ply  had  to  have  one  and  thought  it  would  be 
amusing  not  to. 

While  we  were  at  luncheon,  Berri  and 
Remington  gave  every  one  two  or  three  cigars, 
and  Berri  said  knowingly  :  "I  wish  you  fel 
lows  would  try  these  and  tell  me  what  you 
think  of  them.  I  happened  to  get  hold  of 
them  in  a  rather  odd  way  ;  I  can't  tell  you 
how  exactly  —  at  least  not  for  a  few  days. 
They  're  not  the  usual  thing  you  buy  at  a 

154 


THE    DIARY   OF  A   FRESHMAN 

store.  They  come  from  Santa  Bawthaw- 
thawthoth." 

We  went  on  talking  and  forgot  all  about 
the  cigars,  until  Berri,  who  is  very  sensitive 
to  any  kind  of  scent  or  odor,  suddenly  looked 
up  and  said,  — 

"  What  a  perfectly  excruciating  smell !  It 's 
like  overshoes  on  a  hot  register,  only  much 
worse.  What  on  earth  is  it  ?  "  At  this  the 
rest  of  us  at  the  table  began  to  sniff  the  air, 
and  I  confess  it  was  pretty  bad.  Bertie 
Stockbridge  had  finished  his  luncheon  while 
we  were  still  eating,  and  had  taken  his  chair 
over  to  the  window,  where  he  was  reading 
something  for  a  half-past  one  recitation  and 
smoking  one  of  Amadeo's  cigars.  He  was 
too  absorbed  in  his  book  to  hear  the  rest  of 
us,  but  all  at  once  he  looked  up  with  a  very 
pained  expression  and  exclaimed,  — 

"  What  a  beastly  cigar  !  I  was  reading  and 
did  n't  notice  how  queer  it  was  ;  it 's  made 
me  very  sick."  Then  of  course  we  all  dis 
covered  at  once  where  the  hot  rubbery  fumes 
came  from,  —  all  but  Berri  and  Hemington, 
that  is  to  say ;  they  refused  to  believe  it. 
So  everybody  began  to  light  cigars,  and  in  a 
minute  or  two  the  room  was  simply  unendur 
able.  Stockbridge  said  they  were  like  the 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

trick  cigars  you  see  advertised  sometimes ; 
the  kind  that  "  explode  with  a  red  light,  —  kill 
ing  the  smoker  and  amusing  the  spectators." 
We  dissected  several  of  them  ;  they  seemed  to 
contain  a  little  of  everything  except  tobacco. 
The  fellows  insisted  on  knowing  all  the  details 
of  the  colossal  sell;  and  although  Berri  and 
Remington  felt  awfully  cheap  about  their 
part  in  it,  they  finally  told.  Duggie  says  an 
Amadeo  or  a  Mariue'e  or  a  Luigi  or  an  An- 
selmo  appears  in  Cambridge  every  year  at 
about  this  time,  and  invariably  returns  to 
Santa  Bawthawthawthoth  laden  with  Fresh 
man  gold. 

1.25  P.M.  Rushed  home ;  got  a  shirt  and 
took  it  to  a  Chinese  laundry  just  off  Mt. 
Auburn  Street  and  implored  the  proprietor  to 
wash  it  and  have  it  ready  for  me  by  five 
o'clock.  He  seemed  to  think  me  somewhat 
insane,  and  said  in  a  soothing,  fatherly  kind 
of  way,  — 

"  You  come  back  day  aftle  to-mollel."  Then 
I  explained  the  situation  and  told  him  I  would 
give  him  anything  he  asked  if  he  would  do  me 
this  favor.  He  made  strange  Oriental  sounds, 
at  which  sleepy,  gibbering  things  tumbled  out 
of  a  shelf  behind  a  green  calico  curtain,  and 
from  a  black  hole  in  the  partition  at  the  end 

156 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

of  the  shelf  there  began  a  tremendous  grunt 
ing  and  snuffling,  pierced  by  squeaks  of  rage 
and  anguish.  Then  five  Chinamen  swarmed 
about  my  shirt,  gesticulating  murderously,  and 
uttering  raucous  cries  like  impossible  birds. 
I  wanted  to  stay  and  see  how  it  all  turned 
out;  but  the  bell  had  rung  for  my  half-past 
one  o'clock,  and  I  hurried  away. 

The  Oriental  temperament  is  an  impassive, 
deliberative,  sphinx-like,  inscrutable  thing. 

1.40-2.30  P  M.  This  hour  I  spent  in  class 
listening  to  a  lecture  on  narration.  I  enjoyed 
it  very  much,  and  the  hour  went  by  so  quickly 
that  when  the  instructor  dismissed  us,  I 
thought  he  had  made  a  mistake.  He  gave  us 
short  scenes  from  various  famous  books  in 
illustration  of  his  points  ;  and  ended,  as  usual, 
by  reading  a  lot  of  daily  themes  written  by 
the  class.  Two  of  them  were  mine.  He  said 
they  were  good,  but  pointed  out  how  they 
could  have  been  better.  One  of  his  sugges 
tions  I  agree  with  perfectly,  but  I  think  he  's 
all  off  in  regard  to  the  other.  I  '11  talk  it  over 
with  him  at  his  next  consultation  hour.  Some 
of  the  fellows  thought  the  whole  thing  perfect 
drool ;  but  I  confess  it  interested  me  very 
much.  I  never  feel  like  cutting  this  course, 
somehow. 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

2.30.  Went  to  my  room  with  the  intention 
of  reading  history  until  it  was  time  to  go  for 
my  shirt,  and  —  if  it  was  done  up  —  get  ready 
for  the  tea.  I  had  read  only  part  of  a  chapter 
when  some  fellows,  passing  by,  yelled  at  my 
windows.  I  had  made  up  my  mind,  when  I 
began  to  read,  not  to  answer  any  one,  as  it 's 
impossible  to  accomplish  anything  if  you  do. 
But  of  course  I  forgot  and  yelled  back,  and 
in  a  minute  three  fellows  clattered  up  the 
stairs  and  I  realized  that  they  were  good  for 
the  rest  of  the  afternoon. 

It 's  a  queer  thing  about  going  to  see  people 
here.  I  don't  think  that  any  one  ever  goes 
with  the  intention  of  staying  any  length  of 
time,  or  even  of  sitting  down ;  you  merely 
drop  in  as  you  're  passing  by  and  happen  to 
think  of  it.  You  would  n't  believe  it  if  some 
body  told  you  you  were  destined  to  stay  for 
several  hours.  But  that 's  what  usually  hap 
pens.  Another  queer  thing  is  that  very  few 
fellows  admit  that  they  're  studying  when  you 
come  in,  unless  of  course  it 's  in  the  midst 
of  the  exams.  If  you  find  a  man  at  a  desk 
with  a  note-book  and  several  large  open  vol 
umes  spread  out  before  him,  and  you  say  to 
him,  "Don't  mind  me  —  go  on  with  your 
grinding,"  nine  times  out  of  ten  he  '11  answer, 

158 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

"  Oh,  I  wasn't  grinding  ;  I  was  just  glancing 
over  these  notes."  The  tenth  man  fixes  you 
with  a  determined  eye  and  replies  :  "  You  get 
out  of  here,  or  take  a  book  and  go  into  a 
corner  and  shut  up." 

3.45.  We  all  took  a  walk  up  Brattle  Street 
past  the  Longfellow  house  as  far  as  James 
Russell  Lowell's  place  and  back.  It  's  a 
great  old  street,  even  with  the  leaves  all  gone 

—  which   makes    ordinary   places   so   dreary. 
Duggie  pointed  out  the  most  famous  houses 
to  me  one  day  and  told  me  who  had  lived  in 
them.     I  tried  to  do  it  this  afternoon,  but  the 
fellows  said  they  did  n't  care. 

5.  Got  my  shirt  at  the  Chinaman's.  It 
looked  all  right,  but  it  was  still  damp  in  spots 

—  wet,  in  fact.     I  went  prepared  to  pay  al 
most  any  price  after  all  the  excitement  I  had 
caused  ;    but   the  proprietor  was  surprisingly 
moderate  in  his  demands.     I  gave  him  some 
thing   more  than  he  asked,  but  he  wouldn't 
take  it  until  I  accepted  some  poisonous-look 
ing  dried  berries  done  up  in  a  piece  of  oiled 
paper.     He  seemed  to  have  grasped  the  idea 
of  a   tea,  for  he  kept  saying  over  and  over 
again  with  a  delighted  smile  :   "  You  go  see 
girl — you  go  see  girl." 

5.20.    Went   to   Duncan's    tea    and    «« saw 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

girl"  —  lots  of  them.  They  were  very  nice, 
and  pretended  they  were  dreadfully  excited  at 
being  in  a  college  room.  They  asked  all  sorts 
of  silly  questions,  and  the  fellows  replied  with 
even  sillier  answers.  Duncan  had  taken  them 
to  see  the  museums  and  the  glass  flowers  and 
Memorial  and  the  Gym,  and  had  done  the 
honors  of  Cambridge  generally. 

6.30.  Went  to  dinner  at  Mrs.  Brown's,  but 
as  I  had  just  come  from  Duncan's,  where  I 
had  drunk  two  cups  of  tea  (I  don't  know  why, 
as  I  hate  it)  and  had  eaten  several  kinds 
of  little  cakes,  I  had  no  appetite  whatever. 
Somebody  had  put  a  chocolate  cigar  on  Berrr  s 
and  Hemington's  plate,  —  the  kind  that  has  a 
piece  of  gilt  paper  glued  to  the  large  end. 
Berri  and  Hemington  had  to  stand  a  good 
deal  of  guying  during  dinner,  but  were  con 
soled  by  the  fact  that  Amadeo's  pal  had 
worked  precisely  the  same  game  on  some 
other  men  we  know  slightly  at  the  very  mo 
ment  that  Amadeo  himself  was  doing  us. 

7.15.  Went  to  my  room  and  made  a  big 
fire,  as  I  had  a  curious  kind  of  chill,  although 
the  house  was  warm  and  it  was  n't  cold  out 
side.  I  had  just  decided  to  stay  at  home  and 
read,  when  I  came  across  an  Advocate  postal 
card  on  my  desk,  and  remembered  that  there 

1 60 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

was  a  meeting  of  the  board  in  the  Secretary's 
room  at  eight  o'clock. 

8.11.  Listened  to  manuscripts  and  voted  on 
them,  and  then  sat  around  and  talked  after 
wards.  It 's  rather  embarrassing  sometimes 
when  a  story  happens  to  be  by  one  of  the  edi 
tors  and  isn't  good.  This  evening  we  had  a 
long,  terribly  sentimental  passage  from  the 
life  of  a  member  of  the  board.  We  all  knew 
who  had  written  it,  and  although  it  was  ever 
so  much  worse  than  the  tale  that  had  just 
been  read  (which  had  been  most  unmercifully 
jumped  on),  the  criticisms  were  painfully  cau 
tious  and  generously  sprinkled  with  the  praise 
that  damns.  Of  course  it  isn't  always  this 
way  when  the  editors  submit  things  ;  they  're 
often  made  more  fun  of  than  anybody  else. 
But  this  man  for  some  reason  is  n't  the  kind 
with  whom  that  sort  of  thing  goes  down.  He 
has  been  known  to  refer  to  writing  for  the 
Advocate  as  "  My  Art." 

One  thing  that  happened  during  the  evening 
made  a  good  deal  of  fun.  The  advertisers 
have  kicked  about  our  not  having  the  leaves 
of  the  paper  cut.  They  say  that  the  subscrib 
ers  cut  the  leaves  of  the  reading  matter  only, 
and  never  get  a  chance  to  see  the  advertise 
ments  at  all.  We  think  it  is  ever  so  much 
ii  161 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

nicer  not  to  have  it  done  by  machinery,  for 
when  the  subscribers  do  it  themselves  with  a 
paper-cutter,  the  effect  on  the  thick  paper  is 
very  rough  and  artistic.  Well,  we  discussed 
this  for  a  long  time,  until  some  one  exclaimed : 
"I  don't  see  why  we  shouldn't  have  it  done 
by  hand.  It  would  take  a  little  longer,  but 
the  expense  would  n't  amount  to  much,  and  in 
that  way  we  could  have  our  rough  edges  and 
appease  the  advertisers  at  the  same  time." 
So  after  some  more  talk  it  was  voted  on  and 
carried  unanimously.  Then  the  President  got 
up,  and  turning  to  a  solemn  person  who  had 
been  very  much  in  favor  of  the  motion,  said  : 

"  It  has  been  moved  and  carried  that  the 
leaves  of  the  Advocate  be  cut  henceforth  by 
Hand.  Mr.  Hand,  you  will  kindly  see  that 
the  work  is  done  on  time  ;  I  think  there  are 
only  eight  or  nine  hundred  copies  printed  this 
year." 

11.  On  the  way  home  from  the  Advocate 
meeting  I  saw  the  most  gorgeous  northern 
lights  I  ever  imagined,  —  great  shafts  of  deep 
pink  that  shot  up  from  the  horizon  and  all 
joined  at  the  middle  of  the  sky  like  a  glorious 
umbrella.  I  ran  upstairs  to  get  Duggie  and 
Berri,  but  neither  of  them  was  in ;  so,  as  I 
simply  had  to  have  some  one  to  marvel  with,  I 

162 


THE    DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

called  Mrs.  Chester.  She  and  another  old 
crone  —  Mis'  Buckson  —  were  having  a  cup 
of  tea  in  the  kitchen,  and  did  n't  seem  particu 
larly  enthusiastic  over  my  invitation  to  come 
out  and  see  the  display,  but  they  finally 
bundled  up  in  shawls  and  followed  me  to  the 
piazza.  We  stood  there  a  minute  or  two 
looking  up  in  silence,  and  I  thought  at  first 
that  they  were  as  much  impressed  as  I  was. 
Finally,  however,  Mrs.  Chester  gave  a  little 
society  cough  and  remarked,  — 

"It's  real  chilly,  aren't  it?"  and  Mis' 
Buckson,  drawing  her  shawl  more  tightly 
about  her  bent  shoulders,  jerked  her  chin  in 
an  omnipotent,  blase  kind  of  fashion  towards 
the  heavens ,  and  croaked, — 

"  That  there's  a  sign  o'  war."  Then  they 
both  limped  back  to  the  house. 

11.30.  Made  a  big  blaze  in  the  fireplace,  as 
I  was  cold  again  and  did  n't  feel  well  at  all. 
I  sat  down  to  write  to  mamma,  and  was  just 
finishing  when  Duggie  came  in  on  his  way  to 
bed.  He  's  not  in  training  now  and  can  stay 
np  as  long  as  he  pleases.  He  asked  me  how 
often  I  wrote  to  mamma,  and  I  told  him  that 
I  had  written  twice  a  week  at  first  because 
there  was  so  much  to  tell,  but  that  now  since 
things  had  settled  down  and  I  did  n't  have  so 

163 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

much  to  say,  I  write  about  once  a  week.  He 
answered  that  there  was  just  as  much  to  say 
now  as  there  ever  was,  and  told  me  to  write 
twice  a  week  or  he  'd  know  the  reason  why. 

Then  I  went  to  bed  and  had  a  chill.  And 
that 's  how  a  whole  day  was  spent  from  half- 
past  eight  in  the  morning  until  half-past  twelve 
at  night. 

The  next  morning  I  woke  up  with  a  very 
bad  sore  throat  and  a  stiff  neck  and  pains  all 
over.  Duggie  and  Berri  made  me  send  for  a 
doctor,  and  signed  off  for  me  at  the  office.  I 
can't  imagine  how  I  caught  cold,  unless,  per 
haps,  it  was  from  wearing  that  wet  shirt. 


164 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


IX 

I    WAS  very  sick  for  about  three   days, 
and  just   sick  for  three   or   four   days 
more.     When  Berri  signed  off  for  me 
at  the  office,  the  college  doctor  bustled 
around  to  my  room  at  noon  to  see  what  was 
the   matter.     His    motives   in  doing   this   are 
somewhat  mixed,  I  believe.     He  has  not  only 
the  health  but  the  veracity  of  the  undergradu 
ate  very  much  at  heart.     If  you  are  laid  up, 
of  course  he  has  to  know  about  it ;  and  if 
you   are  n't   well   enough   to   attend   lectures 
but  manage  with  a  heroic  effort  to  go  skating, 
—  well,  he  likes  to  know  about  that  too. 

"Of  course  you  haven't  measles,"  Duggie 
said  when  he  came  in  a  few  minutes  after  Dr. 
Tush  had  gone,  "but  equally,  of  course,  he 
said  you  had,  —  did  n't  he  ?  ' 

"  Yes,  he  did,"  I  answered  dismally  ;  for 
he  had  told  me  this  at  considerable  length, 
and  I  remembered  that  measles  a  good  many 
years  before  had  almost  been  the  end  of  me. 

"Well,  that's  a  relief,"  Duggie  went  on 
cheerfully.  "  You  may  have  all  sorts  of 
things,  but  it 's  a  cinch  that  you  have  n't 
measles.  Tush  is  a  conservative  old  soul ;  he 

165 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

always  gambles  on  measles,  and  of  course 
every  now  and  then  he  wins.  It  pleases  him 
immensely.  He  usually  celebrates  his  suc 
cess  by  writing  a  paper  on  'The  University's 
Health,'  and  getting  it  printed  in  the  Gradu 
ates'  Magazine." 

When  the  other  doctor  —  the  real  one  — 
came,  he  found  that  I  was  threatened  with 
pneumonia. 

Oh,  I  had  a  perfectly  miserable  time  of  it 
at  first.  The  feeling  dreadfully  all  over  and 
not  being  able  to  breathe  was  bad  enough, 
but  I  think  the  far-away-from-homeness  and 
the  worrying  about  mamma  were  worse.  I 
was  afraid  all  the  time  that  she  would  hear 
(although  I  couldn't  imagine  how  that  would 
be  possible),  and  then  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  I  lay  awake  hoping  and  praying  that 
she  would  hear  and  leave  for  Cambridge  by 
the  next  train.  I  don't  suppose  I  realized  just 
then  how  wonderfully  good  Duggie  and  Berri 
and  Mrs.  Chester  were  to  me.  Duggie  and 
Berri  took  turns  in  sitting  up  all  night  and 
putting  flannel  soaked  in  hot  mustard-water 
on  my  chest  (ugh !  how  I  loathe  the  smell  of 
mustard),  and  when  they  had  to  go  to  lectures 
during  the  day,  —  I  think,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
they  cut  a  great  many  of  them,  —  Mrs.  Ches- 

166 


THE    DIARY    OF   A  FRESHMAN 

ter  would  come  in  and  hem  endless  dish-cloths 
by  the  window.  Berri  says  that  he  ceased  to 
worry  about  me  from  the  time  I  looked  over 
at  Mrs.  Chester  after  about  half  an  hour's 
silence  and  exclaimed, — 

"  Sew  some  more  with  the  crisscross  pat 
tern  ;  I  'm  tired  of  those  dingy  white  ones." 

As  I  began  to  get  better,  I  appreciated  how 
much  trouble  I  'd  given  them  all  and  tried  to 
thank  them  ;  but  Berri  said,  — 

"  Why,  your  illness  has  been  a  perfect  god 
send  to  me.  I  've  done  more  grinding  lately 
between  midnight  and  six  in  the  morning 
than  I  ever  thought  would  be  possible.  I  've 
caught  up  with  almost  everything."  And 
Duggie  stopped  me  with,  — 

"  But  if  it  had  n't  been  Berri  and  I,  it 
would  have  been  some  one  else  —  which  we  're 
very  glad  it  was  n't." 

Old  Mrs.  Chester  is  a  jewel.  I  did  n't  pay 
much  attention  to  her  at  first,  but  was  just 
glad  to  know  she  was  in  the  room.  Later, 
however,  when  I  began  to  want  to  get  up  and 
she  devoted  the  whole  of  her  marvellous  art 
to  keeping  me  amused,  1  appreciated  her. 
She  is  wonderful.  I  was  going  to  assert  that 
she  inspires  the  kind  of  affection  one  can't 
help  feeling  for  a  person  who  is  all  heart  and 

167 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

no  intelligence ;  but  that,  somehow,  misses 
the  mark.  She  has  intelligence  —  lots  of  it  — 
only  it 's  different.  And  before  my  recovery 
was  complete  I  began  to  wonder  if  it  wasn't 
the  only  kind  that  is,  after  all,  worth  while 
For  it 's  the  kind  with  which  books  and  news 
papers  and  "  going  a  journey  "  and  other  me 
chanical  aids  have  nothing  to  do.  (Perhaps 
I  should  concede  something  to  the  influence 
of  foreign  travel,  as  there  was  a  very  memo 
rable  expedition  "  to  Goshen  in  New  York 
State"  some  time  in  the  early  sixties.)  Mrs. 
Chester's  intelligence  gushes  undefiled  from 
the  rock,  and  then  flows  along  in  a  limpid, 
ungrammatical  stream  that  soothes  at  first 
and  then  enslaves.  Her  gift  for  narrative 
of  the  detailed,  photographic,  New  England 
variety  positively  out-Wilkins  Mary,  and  I  am 
to-day,  perhaps,  the  greatest  living  male  au 
thority  on  what  Berri  calls  la  cronique  scan- 
daleuse  of  Cambridge.  One  of  her  studies  in 
the  life  of  the  town  forty  years  ago  (it  was  a 
sort  of  epic  trilogy  that  lasted  all  morning 
and  afternoon  and  part  of  the  evening  with 
intermissions  for  luncheon  and  dinner)  I  mean 
to  write  some  time  for  the  Advocate.  It  all 
leads  up  to  the  New  Year's  Eve  on  which 
"  old  Mrs.  Burlap  passed  away,"  but  it  in- 

168 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

eludes  several  new  and  startling  theories  as  to 
the  real  cause  of  the  Civil  War,  an  impartial 
account  of  the  war  itself,  a  magnificent  tribute 
to  the  late  General  Butler,  a  description  of 
Mrs.  Chester's  wedding,  —  the  gifts  and  floral 
tributes  displayed  on  that  occcasion  together 
with  a  dreamy  surmise  as  to  their  probable 
cost,  —  a  brief  history  of  religion  from  the 
point  of  view  of  one  who  is  at  times  assailed  by 
doubt,  —  but  who  doesn't  make  a  practice  of 
"  rushin'  around  town  tellin'  folks  who'd  only 
be  too  glad  to  have  it  to  say "  (this  last  I 
assumed  to  be  a  thrust  at  Mis'  Buckson),  —  a 
spirited  word  picture  of  the  festivities  that 
took  place  when  Cambridge  celebrated  its 
fiftieth  anniversary  as  a  city,  and  at  the  end  a 
brilliant  comparison  between  Cambridge  and 
"  Goshen  in  New  York  State."  There  was, 
I  believe,  some  mention  of  the  passing  away 
of  old  Mrs.  Burlap  on  New  Year's  Eve,  but 
of  this  I  am  not  sure. 

One  thing  I  discovered  that  rather  aston 
ished  me  in  this  part  of  the  world  (a  locality 
that  Berri  in  one  of  his  themes  called  "  a  cold 
hot-bed  of  erudition"),  and  that  is — Mrs. 
Chester  doesn't  know  how  to  read.  I  never 
would  have  found  it  out  but  for  an  embarrass 
ing  little  miscalculation  on  her  part,  in  the 

169 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

method  by  which  until  then  she  had  delight 
fully  concealed  the  fact.  More  than  once 
while  I  was  sick,  she  sat  by  the  lamp  appar 
ently  enjoying  the  evening  paper  that  Duggie 
subscribes  to,  and  I  had  n't  the  slightest  sus 
picion  that  she  was  probably  holding  it  upside 
down,  even  when  I  would  ask  her  what  the 
news  was  and  she  would  reply,  — 

"  Oh,  shaw  —  these  papers  !  They  're  every 
one  of  'em  alike.  They  don't  seem  to  be  any 
news  to  'em.  I  don't  see  why  you  young 
gentlemen  waste  your  good  money  a-buyin' 
'em." 

Often  on  the  way  upstairs  she  takes  the 
letters  that  the  postman  leaves  between  the 
banisters  in  the  little  hall  below,  and  man 
ages  to  distribute  them  with  more  or  less 
accuracy. 

"  I  've  got  somethin'  for  you,  and  it  's 
from  your  mother  too,  you  naughty  little  man, 
you,"  is  her  usual  way  of  handing  me  a  com 
munication  from  mamma.  I  did  n't  realise 
until  the  other  day  that,  as  mamma's  letters 
always  came  in  the  same  kind  of  gray-blue 
envelopes,  it  doesn't  take  a  chirographic  ex 
pert  to  tell  whom  they  are  from.  Nor  did  I 
recall  that,  when  Mrs.  Chester  appears  with 
a  whole  handful  of  things,  she  invariably  stops 

170 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

short  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and  artlessly 
exclaims,  — 

"Well,  now,  if  that  doesn't  beat  all! 
Here  I  've  climbed  up  them  steep  stairs  again 
and  forgotten  my  specs.  Who  's  gettin'  all 
these  letters  anyhow?'1 

A  few  mornings  ago,  however,  —  when  they 
let  me  sit  up  for  the  first  time,  —  Mrs.  Chester 
appeared  with  two  letters.  One  of  them  was 
unmistakably  gray  blue,  but  the  other  was 
white  and  oblong  and  non-committal.  She 
paused  at  the  door  as  if  about  to  examine  the 
address,  and  then  suddenly,  — 

"  If  I  ain't  the  most  careless  woman  in  the 
world,"  she  said.  "  I  've  gone  and  brought  up 
the  letters  again,  and  forgotten  -  But  just 
at  this  point  we  both  became  aware  that  her 
steel-rimmed  spectacles  were  dangling  in  her 
other  hand.  They  not  only  dangled,  but  they 
seemed  to  me  a  moment  later  to  dangle  almost 
spitefully;  for  Mrs.  Chester's  worn  cheeks  be 
came  very  pink.  She  looked  at  the  spectacles 
and  at  the  white  envelope  and  at  me.  Then 
she  said  with  a  sort  of  wistful  lightness,  — 

"  Maybe  you  can  make  it  out ;  your  eyes  are 
younger  than  mine.  I  never  seen  such  a  let 
ter  ;  it 's  so  —  so  —  it's  so  flung  together  like." 

"It  is  —  isn't  it?"  I  agreed  hastily,  as  I 
171 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

stretched  out  my  hand,  to  receive  a  letter  from 
papa  with  the  address  in  type-writing. 

Just  as  I  thought  would  happen,  mamma 
heard  I  was  sick  and  was,  of  course,  very 
much  worried.  Dick  Benton — who  has  never 
come  near  me,  and  whom  I  've  only  seen  twice 
on  the  street  since  College  opened  —  men 
tioned  the  fact  of  my  illness  in  a  letter  home. 
(I  suppose  he  did  it  in  a  despairing  effort  to 
make  his  sentences  reach  the  middle  of  page 
two.)  Of  course  Mrs.  Benton  had  to  throw 
a  shawl  around  her  meddling  old  back  and 
waddle  across  the  street  to  our  house,  to  find 
out  the  latest  news ;  and  as  there  had  n't  been 
any  news,  mamma's  letter  to  me  expressed  a 
"  state  of  mind."  But  I  fixed  her  (and  inci 
dentally  Dick  Benton)  with  a  telegram. 

By  the  way,  I  really  must  speak  to  mamma 
about  her  recent  letters  to  me.  Mildred  has 
been  away  from  home,  and  as  mamma  writes 
very  regularly  to  both  of  us,  she  often  refers  to 
things  she  remembers  having  written  to  some 
body,  but  without  pausing  to  consider  how 
maddening  they  are  when  the  somebody  doesn  t 
happen  to  be  myself  From  her  last,  for  in 
stance,  I  gleaned  these  interesting  items  with 
out  having  the  vaguest  idea  what  they  belong 
to:  — 

172 


"  Your  father  and  I  have  just  got  back  from 
the  funeral.  I  suppose,  when  one  arrives  at 
such  a  great  age,  death  is  a  relief.  But  it  is 
always  solemn. 

"Isn't  it  nice  about  the  Tilestons?  I 
don't  know  when — in  a  purely  impersonal  way 
—  I  've  been  so  pleased.  They  've  struggled 
so  long  and  so  bravely  and  now  it  seems  as 
if  their  ship  had  come  in  at  last.  Of  course, 
I  should  n't  care  to  spend  so  much  time  in 
South  America  myself,  (Guatemala  is  in  South 
America,  is  n't  it?)  but  they  all  seem  delighted 
at  the  prospect." 

Now  would  n't  that  jar  you  ? 

My  acquaintances  generally  found  out  that 
I  was  sick  about  the  time  that  Duggie  and 
Berri  and  Mrs.  Chester  discharged  me,  so  to 
speak,  as  well.  I  could  n't  go  out,  and  the 
doctor  made  me  stay  in  bed  longer  than  was 
really  necessary,  as  the  bottom  of  the  furnace 
fell  to  pieces  one  morning  and  it  was  impos 
sible  to  heat  the  house  for  several  days.  But  I 
felt  pretty  well.  By  that  time,  as  I  say,  there 
was  all  at  once  a  ripple  of  interest  among  my 
friends  over  the  fact  that  I  was  sick.  They 
were  awfully  kind,  and  came  to  my  room  from 
early  in  the  morning  —  right  after  breakfast  — 
until  late  at  night,  when  they  would  drop  in 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

on  their  way  back  from  the  theatre.  My 
desk  was  a  perfect  news-stand  of  illustrated 
magazines  and  funny  papers,  and  I  had  left 
in  my  book-case,  probably,  the  queerest  col 
lection  of  novels  that  was  ever  assembled 
outside  of  a  city  hospital.  Duggie  had  a  fit 
over  them,  and  as  he  read  out  the  titles  one 
evening,  he  kept  exclaiming,  "  What,  oh, 
what  are  the  children  coming  to  !  "  The  only 
volume  that  was  n't  fiction  was  a  thing  called 
"  The  Statesman's  Year  Book,"  and  was 
brought  by  a  queer  sort  of  chap  who  is  very 
much  interested  in  sociology.  I  know  him 
pretty  well  ;  so  after  I  thanked  him,  I 
could  n't  help  saying,  - 

"  What  on  earth  did  you  lug  this  thing  up 
here  for?  —  it  looks  like  an  almanac."  To 
which  he  replied,  - 

"  Well,  it 's  darned  interesting,  I  can  tell 
you.  Until  I  got  it  I  never  knew,  for  instance, 
how  many  quarts  of  alcohol  per  head  were 
consumed  annually  in  Finland." 

Although  Duggie  didn't  say  anything,  I 
don't  think  he  was  particularly  pleased  at  the 
fellows  dropping  in  so  often  and  staying  so 
long.  They  played  cards  a  lot,  and  smoked 
all  the  time  until  you  could  hardly  see  across 
the  room ;  and  sometimes  when  night  came  J 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

felt  rather  tired  and  my  eyes  and  throat  hurt 
a  good  deal.  But  I  confess  I  liked  it,  even  if 
Duggie  and  Mrs.  Chester  did  n't. 

Only  one  change  of  any  importance  took 
place  while  I  was  laid  up  :  Berri's  Icelandic 
dog  —  Saga — has  been  removed  from  our 
midst.  I  was  aware  that  an  unusual  spirit  of 
peace  and  order  reigned  in  the  house  as  soon 
as  I  began  to  be  about  once  more,  but  I 
attributed  it  vaguely  to  the  chastening  influ 
ence  of  my  illness.  However,  one  morning, 
when  on  my  way  to  a  lecture  I  remembered 
that  I  had  noticed  my  best  hat  lying  on  a 
chair  in  my  study  as  I  came  away,  and  ran 
back  to  save  it  from  being  eaten,  it  occurred 
to  me  that  I  had  n't  seen  Saga  for  days.  So, 
while  Berri  and  I  were  strolling  home  from 
luncheon,  I  asked  him  what  had  happened. 

"  He  's  gone  —  gone,  poor  old  darling  !  " 
said  Berri ;  "I  hate  to  speak  of  it." 

"  He  was  n't  stolen  or  run  over  or  anything, 
was  he?"  I  asked  sympathetically  ;  for  now 
that  Saga  was  no  longer  an  hourly  source  of 
anxiety  and  conflict,  1  felt  reasonably  safe 
in  expressing  some  regret.  "  Did  he  run 
away?  " 

"  No,  he  did  n't  leave  me,"  Berri  answered 
sadly;  "I  gave  him  up.  You  see  —  I  found 

175 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

out  that  there  is  a  law  against  bringing  them 
into  the  State  ;  they  always  go  mad  as  soon 
as  the  warm  weather  comes.  So  I  gave  him 
to  one  of  the  little  Cabot  girls  on  her  birth 
day.  She  was  awfully  pleased." 

I  am  rather  worried  over  something  that  I 
got  into  lately  without  stopping  to  think  how 
much  it  might  involve.  Berri  and  that  tall 
spook,  named  Ranny,  that  he  met  at  Fleet- 
wood's  Wednesday  Evening,  struck  up  quite 
an  intimacy  not  long  ago,  although  I  can't  for 
the  life  of  me  see  how  they  managed  it.  He 
isn't  a  Freshman,  as  we  thought,  but  a  Sopho 
more.  Berri  was  waiting  in  a  bookstore  in 
town  one  day  to  go  to  a  matinee  with  a  fellow 
who  did  n't  turn  up;  and  while  he  was  stand 
ing  there,  Ranny  came  in  and  began  to  drive 
the  clerks  insane  over  some  Greek  and  San 
scrit  books  he  had  ordered  weeks  before  and 
that  no  one  had  ever  heard  of.  Berri  looked 
on  for  a  while,  and,  as  his  friend  did  n't  come 
and  it  was  getting  late  and  he  —  Berri  — 
did  n't  like  to  waste  the  extra  ticket,  he  invited 
Ranny  to  go  with  him.  Well,  they  not  only 
went  to  the  matinee,  they  dined  in  town 
together  and  went  again  to  another  show  in 
the  evening.  Between  the  acts  Ranny  ex 
plained  to  him  just  wherein  the  wit  of  "  The 

176 


THE    DIARY   OF   A   FRESHMAN 

Girl  from  Oskosh  "  differed  from  the  comedies 
of  Aristophanes,  and  Berri  says  that  before 
they  parted  he  had  learned  all  about  the 
Greek  drama  from  A  to  Izzard.  Since  then 
Ranny  has  been  to  our  house  several  times, 
and  although  Berri  likes  him,  he  usually  finds 
after  about  an  hour  that  he  is  n't  equal  to  the 
intellectual  strain  ;  so  he  lures  Ranny  into  my 
room  and  then  gracefully  fades  away. 

Now  I  like  Ranny  too.  He  has,  in  his  pon 
derous,  bespectacled  way,  an  enthusiasm  for 
several  bespectacled.,  ponderous  subjects  that 
is  simply  irresistible.  One  of  them  is  Egypt 
ology  and  the  study  of  hieroglyphics.  Of 
course  I  don't  know  anything  about  this,  any 
more  than  Berri  knew  about  the  Greek  drama, 
—  not  as  much  even ;  for  he  did,  at  least,  pre 
tend  to  play  a  pagan  instrument  of  some  kind 
in  a  play  they  gave  at  school  once,  while  a 
Frenchman  behind  the  scenes  toodled  away 
on  a  flute.  But  when  Ranny  gets  to  talking 
about  dynasties  and  cartouches  and  draws 
fascinating  little  pictures  of  gods  and  god 
desses  named  Ma  and  Pa,  and  explains  how 
the  whole  business  was  deciphered  by  means 
of  a  piece  of  stone  somebody  picked  up  in 
the  mud  one  day, — a  regular  old  Sherlock 
Holmes,  he  must  have  been,  —  you  simply 
12  177 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

can't  help  being  carried  away  and  wishing 
you  could  discover  something  on  your  own 
account.  He  talked  so  much  about  it  and 
made  it  all  seem  so  real  and  important  that 
one  day  when  he  exclaimed,  — 

"  And  the  mystery  is  that  the  University 
ignores  this  subject  —  ignores  it !  "  I  really 
felt  that  the  Faculty  was  treating  us  rather 
shabbily  and  that  we  weren't,  somehow,  get 
ting  our  money's  worth.  We  talked  the 
matter  over  very  seriously,  and  decided  at  last 
that  it  could  n't  be  stinginess  on  the  part  of 
the  Corporation,  —  for  why  should  it  allow 
courses  in  higher  mathematics  and  philosophy 
and  Italian  literature,  to  which  only  three  or 
four  fellows  went,  if  it  wanted  to  save  the 
pennies  ?  It  was  more  likely  just  ignorance 
of  the  importance  of  hieroglyphics,  and  the 
growing  demand  for  a  thorough  course  of  it. 

"  We  probably  could  get  a  course  all  right 
if  we  showed  them  how  some  of  us  feel  about 
it,"  Ranny  mused.  "  There's  a  chap  in 
Latin  47  who'd  join,  I  think  —  you've  seen 
that  middle-aged  man  with  the  long  sandy 
beard,  have  n't  you  ?  He  tries  almost  every 
thing." 

The  person  Ranny  referred  to  did  n't  seem 
very  promising  to  me.  We  sleep  next  each 

178 


THE    DIARY   OF   A  FRESHMAN 

other  in  a  history  course.  He  never  wears  a 
necktie,  and  the  last  time  I  saw  him  there 
were  a  lot  of  dead  maple  leaves  tangled  up  in 
his  beard.  No  one  seems  to  know  why  he  is 
here. 

"  Well,  that  makes  three  right  away," 
Ranny  declared  enthusiastically.  "  Perhaps 
Berrisford  will  join ;  but  even  if  he  does  n't 
three  's  enough." 

The  very  next  morning  after  this  Ranny 
appeared  to  say  he  was  going  to  consult 
Professor  Pallas  about  the  new  course,  and 
wanted  me  to  go  along  and  put  in  a  word 
now  and  then.  This  seemed  a  little  sudden 
to  me,  and  I  said  that  perhaps  I  ought  to  con 
sult  my  adviser  before  taking  up  a  new  study, 
as  I  had  n't  done  particularly  well  in  the  old 
ones.  However,  Ranny  said  that  my  adviser 
ought  to  be  thankful  at  my  showing  so  much 
interest  and  public  spirit.  So  we  went  over 
to  Professor  Pallas's  little  private  room  in 
Sever.  He  was  very  glad  to  see  us,  and  when 
Ranny  began  to  explain  the  subject  of  our 
coming,  his  old  eyes  just  glittered.  He  kept 
smiling  to  himself  and  nodding  his  head  in 
assent,  and  once,  when  Ranny  paused  for 
breath,  he  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table, 
exclaiming,  — 

179 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"I  predicted  this  —  predicted  it."  Then 
he  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  paced 
excitedly  up  and  down  the  room.  Ranny  was 
of  course  tremendously  encouraged,  and  I 
was  somewhat  horrified  a  moment  later,  to 
have  him  turn  toward  me  and  with  a  wave  of 
his  hand  declare,  — 

"  My  friend,  Mr.  Wood,  feels  this  weakness 
in  the  curriculum  more,  perhaps,  than  any  of 
us ;  for  long  before  he  entered  college  with 
the  purpose  of  specialising  in  the  subject,  he 
surrounded  himself  with  a  collection  of  Egyp 
tian  antiquities  that  far  excels  anything  of  the 
kind  on  this  side  of  the  British  Museum." 
(He  was  referring  in  his  intense  way  to  a 
handful  of  imitation  scarabs  and  a  dissipated- 
looking  old  mummified  parrot  that  Uncle 
Peter  brought  home  from  his  trip  up  the  Nile. 
I  had  indiscreetly  mentioned  them  one  after 
noon.)  "  We  are  sure  of  four  earnest  work 
ers,  and  there  are,  no  doubt,  many  more." 

Now  the  thing  that  worries  me  about  all 
this  is  that  Professor  Pallas  seemed  so  grati 
fied  and  eager  to  help  the  cause.  His  atti 
tude  toward  us  was  that  of  a  scholar  among 
scholars,  —  deep  calling  unto  deep.  He  said 
that  he  would  love  to  conduct  a  course  in 
hieroglyphics  himself,  but  feared  he  was  n't 

1 80 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

competent,  as  he  had  merely  taken  up  the 
subject  as  a  kind  of  recreation  at  odd  mo 
ments  during  the  last  six  or  eight  years.  He 
could  n't  recall  any  one  in  the  United  States 
who  was  competent,  in  fact,  but  he  knew  of 
a  splendid  authority  in  Germany, — just  the 
man  for  the  place,  —  and  he  would  speak  to 
the  President  about  him  at  the  next  Faculty 
meeting.  Ranny  and  I  thanked  him  pro 
fusely,  and  that  at  present  is  where  the  matter 
stands.  I  wake  up  in  the  night  sometimes, 
positively  cold  at  the  thought  of  having  added 
hieroglyphics  to  my  other  worries.  Think  of 
a  course  for  which  you  could  n't  buy  type 
written  notes,  —  a  course  the  very  lectures  of 
which  would  be  in  German,  —  a  course  so 
terrible  that  no  one  in  the  United  States 
would  dare  undertake  to  tutor  you  in  it  when 
you  got  stuck. 

The  Christmas  holidays  are  almost  here, 
but  it  has  not  been  decided  yet  whether  or 
not  I  am  to  spend  them  at  home.  Mildred  is 
still  gadding  about,  and  papa  may  have  to  go 
to  New  York  on  business.  If  he  does,  mamma 
will,  no  doubt,  go  with  him,  and  I'll  join  them 
there,  and  we  '11  all  have  thin  slabs  of  Christ 
mas  turkey  surrounded  by  bird  bath-tubs  at  a 
hotel.  Berri  has  invited  me  to  spend  the 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

vacation  with  him  (his  mother  is  living  in. 
Washington  this  winter),  but  as  he  remarks 
dolefully  every  now  and  then  that  he  has  to 
stay  in  Cambridge  to  write  a  thesis  that  is 
due  immediately  after  the  holidays,  I  don't 
see  how  he  means  to  manage.  He 's  been 
putting  off  that  thesis  from  day  to  day  until 
I  don't  see  how  he  can  possibly  do  all  the 
reading  and  writing  and  note-taking  it  necessi 
tates.  I  've  tried  to  get  him  started  once  or 
twice,  but  he  has  merely  groaned  and  said,  — 
"  You  're  a  nice  one  to  preach  industry, 
are nt  you?"  So  I've  given  up.  Well,  it 's 
none  of  my  business  if  he  gets  fired  from  the 
course. 


182 


I    MIGHT  have  spared  myself  my  anxiety 
in  regard  to  the  course  in  hieroglyphics, 
My  adviser  overtook  me  in  the  yard  a 
day  or  so  after  our  interview  with  Pro 
fessor  Pallas,   and  after  walking  along  with 
me  for  a  while  he  said,  — 

"  Well,  Wood,  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  look 
ing  about  as  usual ;  I  had  almost  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  you  'd  gone  stark  mad."  I 
asked  him  what  he  meant,  and  it  seems  that 
old  Pallas  had  made  a  speech  at  a  Faculty 
meeting  in  which  he  declared  that  the  deep 
and  ever-growing  interest  throughout  the  un 
dergraduate  body  in  the  subject  of  Egyptology 
had  reached  a  climax  that  demanded  a  course 
of  some  kind.  He  was  very  eloquent,  and 
caused  a  good  deal  of  mild  excitement.  Then 
some  one  got  up  and  asked  who  were  con 
cerned  in  the  movement,  and  Pallas,  after 
fumbling  in  his  side  pocket,  finally  produced 
a  memorandum  and  said,  — 

"The  names  of  those  imbued  with  a  spirit 
for  serious  archaeological  research  are  many, 
but  I  think  that  the  youth  who  by  his  zeal  in 
collecting  and  preserving  valuable  antiquities 

183 


THE    DIARY   OF  A   FRESHMAN 

has  done  more  than  any  one  else  to  further 
this  study  among  his  fellows  is  Mr.  Thomas 

Wood,  of  the  class  of "  But  the  poor 

old  man  did  n't  get  any  further,  my  adviser 
says,  for  everybody  in  the  room  began  to 
roar  and  the  meeting  broke  up  in  confusion. 
Well,  that 's  off  my  mind,  anyhow  ;  although 
I  don't  see  why  they  should  have  taken  it  the 
way  they  did.  There  's  nothing  so  very  ex 
traordinary  in  acquiring  a  love  for  study  when 
that 's  what  you  're  supposed  to  come  here 
for. 

Berri  and  I  discovered  the  most  fascinating 
little  place  the  other  evening.  We  had  been 
in  town  all  afternoon  on  the  trail  of  an  express 
package  of  Berri's  that  had  been  lost  for  days, 
and  were  running  along  Tremont  Street  on 
the  way  to  the  Cambridge  car,  when  Berri 
suddenly  stopped  in  front  of  a  sort  of  alley 
and  clutched  me.  From  the  other  end  came 
the  sound  of  music,  —  a  harp,  a  flute,  and  a 
violin  playing  one  of  those  Neapolitan  yaya- 
yama  songs  that  always,  somehow,  make  you 
feel  as  if  you  'd  been  abroad,  even  when 
you  've  never  been  nearer  Naples  than  waving 
good- by  to  your  sister  from  a  North  German 
Lloyd  dock  in  Hoboken. 

"  Let 's  go  see  what  it  is,"  Berri  said.  So 
184. 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

we  skipped  to  the  other  end  of  the  alley,  and 
found  a  brightly  lighted  little  restaurant  with 
the  music  wailing  away  in  the  vestibule.  We 
stood  listening  for  a  time  and  watching  the 
people  who  went  in.  They  all  stopped  to 
peer  through  a  glass  door,  and  then  after  a 
moment  of  indecision  passed  on — up  a  flight 
of  steep  stairs.  Berri,  of  course,  could  n't  be 
satisfied  until  he  had  solved  the  mystery  of 
the  glass  door,  and  it  was  n't  long  before  we 
were  doing  just  as  every  one  else  did.  We 
saw  a  long,  narrow  room  with  three  rows  of 
little  tables  reaching  from  end  to  end.  The 
walls  were  covered  with  gay  frescos  of  some 
kind  (I  couldn't  make  them  out,  the  tobacco 
smoke  was  so  thick)  ;  foreign- looking  waiters 
were  tearing  in  and  out  among  the  tables ; 
flower  girls  were  wandering  up  and  down  with 
great  armfuls  of  roses  and  carnations  for  sale, 
and  everybody  was  laughing  and  gesticulating 
and  having  such  a  good  time,  apparently,  — 
the  music  was  so  shrill  and  the  clatter  of 
dishes  so  incessant,  —  that  Berri  and  I  turned 
and  gazed  at  each  other,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  After  all  these  years  we  've  found  it  at  last." 
But  a  moment  later  we  realized  why  the 
people  we  had  seen  go  in  had,  after  a  glance, 
turned  away  and  climbed  the  stairs ;  all  the 

185 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

tables  were  occupied.  I  think  we  must  have 
looked  as  dissatisfied  as  the  others,  for  we 
felt  that  nothing  upstairs  could  equal  the 
scene  we  had  just  discovered.  And  we  were 
right.  The  upper  rooms  were  comparatively 
empty  and  quiet  and  rather  dreary.  So  we 
came  down  again  and  were  about  to  take  a 
farewell  look  and  start  for  home,  when  Berri, 
with  his  nose  flattened  against  the  glass,  sud 
denly  exclaimed,  "  Saved  !  Saved  !  '  and 
pushing  open  the  door,  made  his  way  across 
the  room.  Who  should  be  there  but  Mr. 
Fleetwood,  dining  alone  at  a  table  in  the 
corner  ?  Berri,  after  shaking  hands  with  him. 
beckoned  to  me,  and  in  a  moment  we  had  both 
seated  ourselves  at  Fleetwood's  table. 

"  This  is  almost  as  nice  as  if  we  'd  really 
been  invited,  isn't  it?"  said  Berri,  in  his 
easy  way.  "  You  know  we  were  just  on  the 
point  of  giving  up  and  going  home." 

"Why  didn't  you  go  upstairs?"  Fleet- 
wood  inquired.  (He  pretended  all  through 
dinner  that  we  had  spoiled  his  evening.)  "  It 
is  n't  too  late  even  now,"  he  suggested  ;  "  it 's 
much  nicer  up  there  ;  there  's  more  air." 

"  There's  plenty  of  air,  but  no  atmosphere," 
Berri  answered.  "  This  is  what  we  enjoy," 
he  added  with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 

1 86 


"  I  'm  glad  you  like  my  Bohemia,"  Fleet- 
wood  quavered. 

"Oh,  Bohemia's  all  right,"  replied  Berri. 
"Bohemia  would  be  perfect  —  if  it  weren't 
for  the  Bohemians." 

"What  are  'Bohemians'?"  I  asked,  for 
I  'd  often  heard  people  called  that  without 
understanding  just  what  it  meant. 

"Bohemians  ?  "  Berri  repeated.  "Why, 
Bohemians  are  perfectly  horrid  things  who 
exist  exclusively  on  Welsh  rabbits  and  use 
the  word  '  conventional '  as  a  term  of  re 
proach.  My  aunt  knows  hundreds  of  them." 

"  I  wrote  a  paper  once  on  '  What  is  a  Bohe 
mian?'  '  Fleetwood  put  in.  "If  you  would 
really  like  to  know  —  but  of  course  you 
would  n't,"  he  broke  off  sadly  ;  "  no  one  does 
any  more.  You  clever  boys  know  everything 
before  you  come." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Fleetwood,  please  let  us  read 
your  paper,"  we  both  begged  him  enthusiasti 
cally.  I  think  he  was  a  little  flattered,  for  we 
wouldn't  allow  him  to  talk  about  anything 
else  until  he  had  promised  to  tell  me  where  I 
could  find  his  article.  Berri,  however,  he  re 
fused  absolutely,  and  made  me  promise,  in 
turn,  not  to  let  him  know  where  to  look  for  it 
and  never  to  quote  from  it  in  Berri's  presence 

187 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"  I  know  him,"  he  muttered  dolefully  ;  "  I 
know  these  memories  that  '  turn  again  and 
rend  you  ;  '  I  'm  an  old  man  ;  'Ich  habe  gelebt ' 
and  ge-suffered." 

Well,  we  had  a  most  delightful  dinner. 
Fleetwood,  when  he  saw  that  he  wasn't  going 
to  get  rid  of  us,  cheered  up  and  made  himself 
very  agreeable.  He  can  be  charming  when 
he  wants  to  be.  He  and  Berri  did  most  of 
the  talking,  although  his  remarks,  as  a  rule, 
were  addressed  to  me.  The  fact  is,  he  likes 
me  because  I  'm  sympathetic  and  a  good  lis 
tener,  but  Berri  he  finds  vastly  more  interest 
ing.  Berri  has  travelled  such  a  lot,  and, 
besides,  he  has  the  knack  (I  haven't  it  at  all) 
of  being  able  to  discuss  things  of  which  he 
knows  nothing  in  a  way  that  commands  not 
only  attention  but  respect.  For  instance,  they 
got  into  a  perfectly  absorbing  squabble  over 
the  novelist  Henry  James,  in  which  Fleet- 
wood  deplored  and  Berri  defended  what  Fleet- 
wood  called  his  "  later  manner."  Fleetwood 
ended  up  with,  — 

"  I  've  read  everything  he  's  ever  done  — 
some  of  them  many  times  over  —  and  I  wrote 
a  paper  on  him  for  Lesper's  not  long  ago  ; 
but  I  could  n't,  conscientiously,  come  to  any 
other  conclusion."  To  which  Berri  replied,  as 

188 


THE   DIARY  OF   A  FRESHMAN 

he  smiled  indulgently  to  himself  and  broke  a 
bit  of  bread  with  his  slim  brown  fingers,  — 

"  I  often  wonder  if  you  people  over  here 
who  write  things  about  Harry  James  from 
time  to  time,  really  comprehend  the  man  at 
all  —  notice  that  I  say  '  James  the  man,'  not 
'James  the  writer.'  '  Le  style  c'est  I'homme,' 
you  know  ;  is  n't  it  Bossuet  who  tells  us 
that  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  n't,"  said  Fleetwood,  rather  peev 
ishly;  "it's  Buffon  —  and  he  probably  stole 
it  from  the  Latin,  '  Stylus  virum  arguit.' ' 
Fleetwood,  of  course,  knows  what  he  's  talk 
ing  about.  But,  nevertheless,  I  could  see 
that  Bern's  general  air  of  being  foreign  and 
detached  and  knowing  James  from  the  inside 
—  or  rather  from  the  other  side  —  impressed 
him  ;  and  as  for  me,  I  was  simply  paralyzed 
For  I  could  have  testified  under  oath  that 
Berri  had  never  read  a  word  of  Henry  James' 
in  his  life,  and  that  he  'd  never  laid  eyes  on 
the  man.  I  spoke  to  him  about  it  afterward 
and  asked  him  how  he  dared  to  do  such  things. 

"  Have  you  ever  read  anything  by  James  — 
have  you  ever  seen  '  Harry  James  the  man/ 
as  you  called  him  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  No ;  of  course  not,"  Berri  answered 
"  What  difference  does  it  make  ?  " 

189 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"But  you  went  on  as  if  you  knew  more 
about  him  than  even  Fleetwood  ;  and  I  think 
that  toward  the  end  Fleetwood  almost  thought 
you  did  himself." 

"Oh  —  that,"  Berri  shrugged,  after  trying 
to  recall  the  conversation.  "  That  was  merely 
what  an  old  frump  of  a  woman  said  at  my 
aunt's  one  day  when  I  dropped  in  for  luncheon. 
She  and  Aunt  Josephine  gabbled  and  gabbled, 
and  never  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  me, 
and  although  they  were  both  unusually  tire 
some,  I  suppose  I  could  n't  avoid  remembering 
some  of  the  things  they  said.  But  it  would 
have  been  impossible  for  me  to  dwell  any 
longer  on  that  particular  topic  with  Fleetwood, 
even  if  my  life  had  depended  on  it,  because 
that  day  at  luncheon,  just  as  my  aunt's  friend 
got  started  on  '  James  the  man,'  I  happened 
to  glance  up  and  notice  that  she  was  wearing 
an  entirely  different  kind  of  wig  from  the  ratty 
old  thing  she  'd  flourished  in  before  she  went 
abroad.  She  had  brought  back  a  new  one 
that  was  —  why,  it  was  an  architectural  mar 
vel  ;  it  looked  like  the  dome  of  a  mosque,  and 
covered  her  whole  head,  from  eyebrows  to 
neck,  with  little  cut-out  places  for  her  ears  to 
peek  through.  It  hypnotized  me  all  through 
luncheon,  and  I  never  heard  a  word  about 

190 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

'  James  the  man,'  — so  of  course  when  I  got 
that  far  with  Fleetwood  I  had  to  change  the 
subject.  Don't  you  remember  that  we  began 
to  discuss  Bernhardt's  conception  of  Hamlet 
rather  abruptly  ?  I  '11  never  trust  that  old  wo 
man  again  —  after  making  the  mistake  about 
Buffon.  Why,  she  's  positively  illiterate  !  " 

Fleetwood  told  me  a  lot  about  Mazuret's  — 
that 's  the  name  of  the  restaurant  —  which 
made  me  glad  that  we  had  come  across  it 
accidentally,  —  found  it  out  for  ourselves.  It 's 
very  famous.  All  sorts  of  people  —  writers 
and  painters  and  actors  and  exiled  noblemen  — 
used  to  make  a  kind  of  headquarters  of  it  and 
dine  there  whenever  they  happened  to  be  in 
town.  Fleetwood  has  been  going  there  for 
years,  and  always  sits  at  the  same  table. 
(That 's  the  proper  thing  to  do  ;  you  must 
have  a  favorite  table,  and  when  you  come  in 
and  find  it  occupied,  you  must  scowl  and 
shrug  and  complain  to  the  waiters  in  a  loud 
voice  that  the  place  is  going  to  the  dogs. 
Then  everybody  in  the  room  takes  it  for 
granted  that  you  're  a  writer  or  a  painter,  an 
actor  or  an  exiled  nobleman,  and  looks  inter 
ested  and  sympathetic.  We  saw  several  per 
formances  of  this  kind.)  But  the  place,  of 
course,  "isn't  what  it  used  to  be."  I'm 

191 


THE    DIARY   OF   A  FRESHMAN 

seven  or  eight  years  too  late,  as  usual.  Some 
of  the  poets  have  become  very  successful  — 
which  means,  Fleetwood  says,  that  they  're 
doing  newspaper  work  in  New  York  ;  some 
of  the  painters  and  actors  are  beyond  the 
reach  of  criticism — which  means  that  they're 
dead  ;  and  some  of  the  noblemen  are  confi 
dent  that  their  respective  governments  are 
about  to  recall  them  to  posts  of  responsibility 
and  honor  —  which  means  that  they  are  in 
jail. 

It  was  more  entertaining,  Fleetwood  says, 
in  the  days  of  Leontine,  —  the  shrewd,  viva 
cious,  businesslike  Frenchwoman  who,  when 
Monsieur  Mazuret  became  too  ill,  and  Ma 
dame  too  old,  used  to  make  change  and  scold 
the  waiters  and  say  good  evening  to  you,  and 
whose  red-striped  gingham  shirt-waists  fitted 
her  like  models  from  Paquin.  It  was  Leontine 
who  brought  back  the  wonderful  wall-paper 
from  Paris  (through  the  glass  door  it  looked 
like  a  painting)  that  represents  a  hunting 
scene,  with  willowy  ladies  in  preposterous 
pink  velvet  riding-habits  and  waving  plumes, 
and  gentlemen  blowing  tasselled  horns,  and 
hounds  and  stags  —  all  plunging  through  a 
perfectly  impenetrable  forest,  whose  improb 
able  luxuriance  Berri  brilliantly  accounted 

192 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

for  by  saying  that  it  was  evidently  "  Paris 
green." 

"  Attend  now  —  I  tell  you  something," 
Leontine  used  to  say  confidentially  when  the 
evening  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  but  one 
or  two  stragglers  were  left  in  the  dining-room. 

"  These  peoples  —  they  stay  so  long  some 
times  ;  I  tell  to  them  that  they  must  go.  But 
non  —  they  will  not  go  ;  and  they  stay,  and 
they  stay,  and  they  stay.  And  all  at  once  the 
—  what  you  call  ?  —  the  chasse  —  she  begin  to 
move!  The  horses — he  gallop  ;  the  ladies  — 
she  scream  of  laughing  ;  the  gentlemen  —  he 
make  toot,  toot,  toot,  tooooo !  The  dogs  — 
Ah-h  h-h  !  The  —  the  —  cet  animal-la  —  the 
deer  ?  —  the  deer  —  Ah-h-h-h  !  '  Carried 
away  by  these  midnight  memories,  Leontine 
would  become  a  galloping  horse,  a  screaming 
lady,  a  master  of  hounds,  a  savage  pack,  and 
a  terrified  monarch  of  the  glen  —  all  at  once. 
Then,  overpowered  by  the  weird  horror  of  it, 
she  would  cover  her  face  with  her  apron  and 
run  coquettishly  as  if  for  protection  to  another 
table. 

There  was  another  tale — the  description 
of  a  thunderstorm  —  a  regular  cloud-burst,  it 
must  have  been  —  that,  one  afternoon,  over 
took  Madame  and  Leontine  in  the  Place  de 

'3  193 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

la  Madeleine,  Leontine  personifying  the  truly 
Gallic  elements  —  the  lightning  (reels  back 
ward —  eyes  covered  with  hands)  —  the  thun 
der  (fingers  in  ears — eyes  rolling  —  mouth 
open  and  emitting  groans)  —  the  rain  hissing 
back  from  the  asphalt  in  a  million  silver 
bubbles  (skirts  lifted — tip-toes  —  mon  dieus 
—  shrieks  —  hasty  exit  to  kitchen)  —  Leontine 
bringing  this  incoherent  scene  vividly  before 
one,  was  worth  one's  eating  a  worse  dinner, 
Fleetwood  says,  than  the  dinner  at  Mazuret's. 
But  Monsieur  is  dead,  and  Madame  just  dried 
up  and  blew  away,  and  Leontine  is  married, 
and  —  although  I  don't  know  when  I  've  en 
joyed  a  dinner  so  much  —  "the  place  isn't 
what  it  used  to  be." 

While  Fleetwood  was  telling  me  all  this,  I 
noticed  that  Berri  called  one  of  the  waiters 
and  spoke  to  him  in  French.  I  don't  know 
what  he  said,  as  he  talked  very  fast  —  and  any 
how  it  did  n't  sound  much  like  the  kind  of 
French  I  've  been  used  to.  The  waiter  dis 
appeared,  and  in  half  an  hour  or  so  a  messenger 
boy  came  in  and  gave  Berri  a  little  envelope 
which  he  put  in  his  pocket  without  saying  any 
thing.  Then,  when  we  had  finished  dinner 
and  were  just  about  to  push  away  from  the 
table,  Berri  exclaimed,  — 

194 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

"  Now  we  '11  all  go  to  the  theatre." 

"  My  dear  young  man,  if  you  could  see 
the  work  I  have  to  do  this  night,"  Fleetwood 
protested  with  a  gesture  that  seemed  to  ex 
press  mountains  of  uncorrected  themes,  "  you 
would  realize,  for  once  in  your  life,  what  work 
really  is." 

"  But  I  have  the  tickets,"  Berri  explained  ; 
and  he  brought  forth  the  little  envelope  that 
the  messenger  boy  had  given  him. 

"  No  —  no  —  no  !  "  Fleetwood  answered  de 
cidedly,  and  started  for  the  door.  But  Berri 
detained  him. 

"  By  inflicting  our  company  on  you  we  've 
spoiled  the  evening  for  you,  I  know ;  but 
you  won't  spoil  it  for  me  by  depriving  us  of 
yours,"  he  begged  in  his  engaging  way. 

"  '  Sweet  invocation  of  a  child  :  most  pretty 
and  pathetical,'  Fleetwood  laughed,  and 
backed  into  the  vestibule.  We  followed  and 
surrounded  him,  so  to  speak,  each  taking 
hold  of  an  arm.  Then  we  all  walked  through 
the  alley  toward  Tremont  Street,  Fleetwood 
quavering  apprehensively  from  time  to  time, 
"  Now  you  '11  take  me  to  my  car  and  then  bid 
me  adieu,  like  two  good  boys,  won't  you  ? " 
while  we  agreed  to  everything  he  said  and 
clung  to  him  like  sheriffs.  Berri  was  giggling 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

hysterically,  but  although  I  thought  the  situa 
tion  rather  amusing,  I  did  n't  see  anything  so 
terribly  funny  about  it  until  we  got  to  the 
parting  of  the  ways  and  Fleet  wood  stopped. 
Then  I  noticed  that,  in  addition  to  the  three 
great  red  roses  that  Berri  had  bought  for  our 
button-holes,  Fleetwood  had  a  fourth  one,  with 
a  long,  flexible  stem,  growing  apparently  out  of 
the  top  of  his  head.  He  was  so  unconscious 
of  the  absurd,  lanky  thing  nodding  solemnly 
over  him  whenever  he  spoke,  that  when  he 
held  out  his  hand,  exclaiming  tremulously,  — 

"  *  And  so,'  in  the  words  of  Jessica,  «  Fare 
well  ;  I  will  not  have  my  father  see  me  talk 
with  thee,' "  and  the  rose  emphasized  every 
word  as  if  it  were  imitating  him,  I  gave  an 
uncontrollable  whoop,  and  Berri  doubled  up 
on  a  near-by  doorstep. 

"  I  only  would  that  my  father  were  alive  at 
the  present  moment  to  see  me  talking  with 
thee,"  Berri  gasped.  "  I  don't  know  any 
thing  he  would  have  enjoyed  more." 

Fleetwood  looked  hurt  and  mystified  and 
vaguely  suspicious,  and  he  stood  there  merely 
long  enough  to  say,  — 

"  *  You  break  jests  as  braggarts   do  their 
blades,   which,  God  be  thanked,  hurt  not.' ' 
Then,  as  Berri  was  still  sitting  on  the  door- 

196 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

step  and  I  was  leaning  against  the  wall,  he 
made  a  sudden  dash  for  the  other  side  of  the 
street.  We  caught  him,  of  course,  grasped 
his  arms  once  more,  and  walked  him  off  to 
the  theatre,  pretending  all  the  time  that  we 
did  n't  notice  his  struggles  and  how  furious  he 
was  at  having  to  go  with  us.  Berri  kept  up 
an  incessant  stream  of  conversation,  saying 
things  that,  to  an  outsider,  would  have  given 
the  impression  that  the  theatre-party  was 
Fleetwood's,  and  that  we  were  the  ones  who 
were  being  dragged  reluctantly  away  from  the 
Cambridge  car.  Just  before  we  got  to  the 
theatre  the  solemn  rose  in  Fleetwood's  hat 
toppled  over  and  dangled  against  his  face. 
This  also  we  pretended  not  to  see,  and  as  we 
had  him  firmly  by  the  arms,  he  was  unable 
to  reach  up  and  throw  it  away  ;  so  we  made 
a  spectacular  entrance  through  the  brightly 
lighted  doorway,  with  Fleetwood  ineffectually 
blowing  at  the  rose  and  shaking  his  head  like 
an  angry  bull.  A  party  of  four  or  five  fellows 
—  students  —  who  had  been  unable  to  get 
tickets  were  turning  away  from  the  box-office 
as  we  appeared,  and  they  naturally  stopped  to 
look  at  us. 

This  was  in  the  nature  of  a  last  straw,  for 
Fleetwood  almost  tearfully  broke  out  with,  — 

197 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"  You  dreadful,  dreadful  boys,  my  reputa 
tion  is  ruined  ;  they  '11  think  I  've  been  drink 
ing."  Even  Berri  began  to  see  that  we  had 
gone  somewhat  far,  for  he  plucked  the  rose 
from  Fleetwood's  cheek,  exclaiming,  — 

"  Good  gracious,  man  !  where  did  you  get 
this  ?  You  must  n't  go  to  the  theatre  looking 
that  way.  Just  because  Bernhardt  plays 
Hamlet  is  no  reason  why  you  should  under 
take  to  do  Ophelia;  "  and  then  he  threw  it 
on  the  floor.  Fleetwood  rolled  his  eyes 
hopelessly. 

Well,  we  never  got  home  until  almost  four 
in  the  morning.  A  man  whose  seat  was  be 
hind  ours  at  the  play  tapped  Fleetwood  on 
the  shoulder  as  soon  as  we  had  sat  down,  and 
after  a  whispered  conversation  he  got  up  and 
went  away.  Then  Fleetwood  told  us  the 
man  was  a  dramatic  critic  —  an  acquaintance 
of  his  —  who  had  been  sent  to  write  up  the 
play  for  a  morning  paper,  but  that,  as  he 
did  n't  understand  French  and  was  n't  much 
of  a  Shakespearian  scholar  and  wanted  to  go 
to  a  progressive  peanut  party  in  West  Rox- 
bury  anyhow,  he  had  asked  Fleetwood  to  do 
the  thing  for  him.  Fleetwood  used  to  be  on 
a  paper  himself,  and  was  delighted  to  renew 
old  times. 

198 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

So  all  during  the  performance  he  made 
notes  on  the  margin  of  his  program  and 
chuckled  to  himself.  The  occupation,  I  think, 
diverted  his  mind  from  Berri  and  me  and 
helped  him  to  forgive  us. 

Afterward  we  went  to  Newspaper  Row  and 
waited  for  hours  in  a  bare,  rather  dirty  little 
room  while  Fleetwood,  standing  at  a  high  desk 
under  an  electric  light  in  the  corner,  wrote  his 
review.  He  spent  much  more  time  in  groan 
ing,  "My  facility  is  gone — my  hand  has 
lost  its  cunning,"  than  in  actual  writing.  By 
the  time  he  was  ready  to  leave  we  were  all 
famished  ;  so  before  catching  the  owl  car  from 
Bowdoin  Square  we  stopped  at  an  all-night 
restaurant  that  Fleetwood  used  to  patronize 
when  he  was  a  reporter,  and  had  buckwheat 
cakes  and  maple  syrup.  I  've  never  tasted 
anything  so  good. 

The  Cambridge  car  was  interesting,  but 
fearful.  It  was  jammed  with  people,  and  I 
wondered  where  so  many  could  have  come 
from  that  hour  of  the  morning.  They  could  n't 
all  have  been  dramatic  critics.  The  majority 
of  those  who  got  seats  went  sound  asleep,  and 
as  the  conductor  couldn't  very  well  wake 
them  up  at  every  street,  he  found  out  before 
hand  where  they  wanted  to  get  off,  and  then 

199 


THE    DIARY    OF   A  FRESHMAN 

hung  little  tags  on  their  coats  that  told  their 
destination. 

When  we  were  saying  good-by  to  Fleet- 
wood  in  the  Square,  Berri  laughed  and 
asked,  — 

"  Have  you  decided  yet  what  you  're  going 
to  do  to  me,  Mr.  Fleetwood  ?  I  know  you 
would  like  to  give  me  E  on  my  thesis,  but  I 
don't  think  I  deserve  quite  that."  Instead  of 
answering  him,  however,  Mr.  Fleetwood  ran 
away,  exclaiming,  - 

"Don't  talk  shop,  —  don't  talk  shop  ;  good 
night,  —  good-night  ! " 

Berri  has  begun  to  get  awfully  scared  about 
the  thesis,  —  not  that  he 's  afraid  that  Fleet- 
wood  will  give  it  a  low  mark,  but  because  it 
does  n't  look  at  present  as  if  there  would  be 
anything  to  mark  at  all.  I  found  him  in  his 
room  the  other  day  with  a  pile  of  books  and 
a  scratch-block  on  his  table.  But  he  had  n't 
taken  a  note,  and  his  attitude  was  one  of  utter 
despair.  Of  course  he  can't  possibly  write  it 
unless  he  stays  here  during  the  holidays,  for 
they  begin  day  after  to-morrow. 


200 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 


XI 

I  DON'T  think  I've  had  a  pen  in  my 
hand,  except  when  I  wrote  a  note  to 
Berri,  for  more  than  two  weeks.  In 
the  first  place  I  left  in  such  a  hurry 
to  meet  the  family  in  New  York  that,  among 
the  various  things  I  forgot  to  pack  at  the  last 
minute,  my  diary  was  one.  (Even  if  I  had 
taken  it,  I  probably  should  n't  have  found  time 
to  record  all  we  did.)  Then,  as  I  was  with 
mamma  and  papa  and  Mildred  during  the 
entire  vacation,  there  was  no  necessity  for 
writing  letters. 

I  did  n't  go  to  Washington  with  Berri  for 
two  reasons.  The  family  naturally  wanted 
me  to  spend  the  holidays  with  them,  and  I 
could  n't  help  feeling  that,  if  I  refused  Berri's 
kind  invitation,  he  would  be  much  more  likely 
to  stay,  part  of  the  time  at  least,  in  Cam 
bridge  and  write  his  thesis.  In  a  way  I  was 
right ;  for  when  I  told  him  I  simply  could  n't 
go  with  him,  he  said  sort  of  listlessly,— 

"  Well,  then  I  suppose  I  ought  to  stay  here 
raid  finish  that  thing,  ought  n't  I  ? "  which 
was  an  optimistic  way  of  letting  me  know 
that  it  had  n't  even  been  begun.  I  did  n't 

201 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

know  what  to  answer  exactly,  because  if  I  'd 
agreed  with  him  he  would  have  thought  me 
unsympathetic  and  looked  hurt,  and  if  I  had 
advised  him  to  let  the  whole  matter  slide,  and 
forget  about  it,  and  have  a  good  time  (which 
was,  of  course,  what  he  wanted  me  to  do),  I 
felt  sure  that  he  would  eventually  blame  me 
for  giving  him  bad  advice.  That 's  Berri  all 
over.  So  I  merely  remarked,  "  You  '11  have 
to  be  the  judge  ;  it 's  too  serious  a  matter  for 
any  one  else  to  meddle  with,"  and  felt  like  a 
nasty  little  prig  as  I  said  it.  He  was  restless 
and  gloomy  after  that,  and  took  a  long  walk 
all  alone,  during  which  I  'm  convinced  that 
he  very  nearly  made  up  his  mind  to  stay  in 
Cambridge  and  slave.  I  say  very  nearly, 
because  he  did  n't  bring  himself  quite  to  the 
point  of  telling  anybody  about  it.  But  the 
next  afternoon  (college  closed  with  the  last 
lecture  of  that  day),  when  I  turned  into  our 
street  on  the  way  to  my  room,  there  was  a 
cab  with  a  steamer  trunk  on  it  standing  in 
front  of  our  house  ;  and  as  I  opened  the  front 
door,  Berri  and  a  dress-suit  case  clattered 
down  the  stairs.  He  stopped  just  long  enough 
to  shake  hands  and  exclaim,  <c  Good-by, 
Granny  —  have  a  good  time  —  I  left  a  note 
for  you  on  your  desk.  The  train  goes  in  less 

202 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

than  an  hour."  Then  he  rushed  out  of  the 
gate  and  jumped  into  the  cab,  slamming  the 
door  after  him  with  that  sharp,  thrilling  "  Now 
they're  off"  clack  that  cabs,  and  cabs  only, 
possess.  That  was  the  last  I  saw  of  him. 

New  York  was  a  pleasing  delirium  of  the 
atres  and  operas  and  automobile  rides  up  and 
down  Fifth  Avenue,  with  just  enough  rows 
between  Mildred  and  me,  and  papa  and  me 
and  Mildred  and  mamma  (the  other  possible 
combinations  never  scrap),  to  make  us  realize 
that  the  family  tie  was  the  same  dear  old 
family  tie  and  had  n't  been  in  any  way  severed 
by  my  long  absence.  It  took  us  three  days 
to  persuade  mamma  to  ride  in  an  automobile, 
—  a  triumph  that  we  all  lived  bitterly  to  re 
pent  ;  for  she  ever  afterwards  refused  to  be 
transported  from  place  to  place  by  any  other 
means,  —  which  was  not  only  inconvenient, 
but  ruinous.  She  justified  her  extravagance 
by  declaring  that  in  an  emergency  she  pre 
ferred  to  be  the  smasher  to  the  smashed.  I 
met  lots  of  fellows  I  knew  on  the  street,  and 
some  of  them  took  me  home  with  them  to 
luncheon  or  to  that  curious  five-o'clock-sit- 
around-and -don't- know-what-to-do-with-the- 
cup  meal  they  call  "tea."  Meeting  their 
families  was  very  nice,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  knew 

203 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

the  fellows  ever  so  much  better  than  I  did  in 
Cambridge. 

One  incident  might  have  ended  in  a  tragedy 
if  I  hadn't  happened  to  preserve  a  certain 
letter  of  mamma's.  ("  Never  write  anything 
and  never  burn  anything  —  is  n't  it  Talleyrand 
who  tells  us  that?"  as  the  friend  of  Berri's 
aunt  would  say.)  It  was  the  real  reason  of 
our  spending  the  last  two  days  of  the  vacation 
in  Boston,  and  came  about  in  the  following 
way. 

One  day  at  luncheon  (we  were  going  to  a 
matinee  afterwards)  I  glanced  at  my  watch 
to  see  how  late  we  were,  and  mamma  noticed, 
for  the  first  time,  that  I  was  carrying  a  cheap 
nickel-plated  alarm-clock  sort  of  an  affair  in 
stead  of  the  gold-faced  heirloom  that  has  been 
reposing  for  lo !  these  many  weeks  in  Mr. 
Hirsch's  pawn-shop.  Since  our  meeting  she 
had  n't  referred  to  this  painful  subject,  and  as 
I  had  become  used  to  the  dollar  watch  on  the 
end  of  my  chain,  it  never  occurred  to  me  to 
say  anything  about  it.  That  day  she  looked 
at  the  watch  and  then  at  me,  and  finally  she 
murmured,  "  Why,  Tommy !  "  with  the  ex 
pression  of  one  who  seems  to  see  the  founda 
tions  of  Truth,  Respectability,  and  Honor 
crumbling  to  dust ;  and  she  finished  her  lun- 

204 


cheon  in  silence,  breathing  in  a  resigned  kind 
of  way  and  studying  the  table-cloth  with  eyes 
like  smitten  forget-me  nots.  On  the  way  up 
stairs  I  lagged  behind,  and  Mildred  said  to 
me,  — 

"  Mamma  has  on  her  early-Christian-mar 
tyr  look.  What  on  earth's  the  matter  now?" 
But  I  was  unable  to  enlighten  her.  Mamma 
had  known  from  the  first  that  the  watch  had 
been  pawned  ;  I  could  n't  imagine  why  she 
was  so  upset. 

All  was  explained,  however,  when  I  went 
to  her  room.  Some  time  ago  she  had  sent 
me  a  draft  for  thirty  dollars.  It  came  in  a 
cheerful  letter  (no  letter  containing  a  draft 
for  thirty  dollars  is  sad)  about  nothing  in 
particular.  I  remembered  that  at  the  time 
the  postscript  had  puzzled  me,  for  it  said, 
"  Of  course  I  have  told  your  father  nothing 
about  this,"  and  there  was  no  clew  in  the 
body  of  the  letter  to  what  "this"  referred. 
The  draft  wasn't  mentioned.  It  seems  that 
mamma  was  under  the  impression  she  had 
written  me  several  pages  on  the  evils  of  ex 
travagance,  the  horrors  of  debt,  and  the  gen 
eral  desirability  of  redeeming  one's  watch  as 
soon  as  possible,  —  which  she  hadn't  at  all. 
Not  being  a  mind-reader,  I  assumed  that  her 

205 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

draft  was  a  spontaneous  outburst  of  maternal 
esteem,  had  it  cashed  with  a  loving  grateful 
heart,  and  spent  the  money  in  three  days. 
Therefore,  when  she  caught  sight  of  my  tin 
timepiece  (it  keeps  much  better  time,  by  the 
way,  than  the  heirloom  ever  did),  she  had  dis 
tressing  visions  of  me  indulging  in  a  perfect 
carnival  of  embezzlement,  and  finally  ending 
up  with  shorn  locks,  striped  clothes,  and  a 
chain  on  my  leg. 

I  never  realized  before  that  the  human  brain 
is  perfectly  capable,  under  certain  circum 
stances,  of  harboring  two  distinct  beliefs  at 
the  same  time,  —  the  truth  of  either  one  of 
which  necessarily  excludes  the  other.  (There 
is  probably  a  more  technical  way  of  stating 
this,  but  I  have  n't  got  that  far  in  my  philoso 
phy  course  as  yet.)  Now,  when  I  solemnly 
declared  to  mamma  that  she  had  never  men 
tioned  her  check  in  connection  with  my  watch 
or  anything  else  in  fact,  I  am  sure  she  believed 
me.  She  said  she  believed  me,  and  seemed 
greatly  relieved.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
although  she  knew  I  was  telling  the  truth, 
and  rejoiced  in  the  fact,  I  am  certain  that  she 
was  unable  at  the  same  time  to  abandon  her 
equally  strong  conviction  that  she  had  written 
and  sent  precisely  the  letter  she  had  intended 

206 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

10.  I  don't  pretend  to  explain  this  mental 
phenomenon,  and  I  discreetly  refrained  from 
discussing  it  with  mamma,  for  in  the  midst  of 
our  talk  I  began  to  have  a  dim,  delicious  sus 
picion  that  her  letter  was  at  that  moment 
reposing  in  my  inside  pocket.  (When  I  am 
away  from  home,  I  always  carry  several 
plainly  addressed  letters  in  order  that  there 
may  be  as  little  trouble  as  possible  in  case 
anything  should  happen  to  me.  I  remembered 
having  put  the  letter  with  the  postscript  into 
my  coat-pocket  instead  of  my  desk,  as  I 
wished  to  refer  to  it  when  I  next  wrote  home.) 
So,  when  mamma  finally  said,  "  Well,  I  be 
lieve  you,"  and  then  added  with  an  air  of 
abstraction,  "But  I  wish  you  had  saved  that 
letter,"  I  thrust  my  hand  into  my  pocket, 
glanced  at  several  envelopes,  and  exclaimed 
dramatically  as  I  showed  her  one  of  them,  — 

"  Madam,  your  most  idle  whim  is  my  in 
exorable  law."  Then  we  all  went  to  the 
matinee. 

But  that  wasn't  the  end  of  the  watch. 
Mamma  made  me  give  her  the  pawn-ticket, 
and  insisted  on  going  home  by  way  of  Bos 
ton  for  the  purpose  of  redeeming  it  herself. 
The  reason  of  this  change  in  the  family  plans 
was  not  explained  to  Mildred  and  papa ;  but 

207 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

they  were  docile,  and  seemed  to  think  it  would 
be  very  nice  to  see  my  rooms  before  leaving 
for  home. 

There  was  no  opportunity  to  visit  Mr.  Hirsch 
when  we  arrived  yesterday,  as  we  spent  most 
of  the  day  in  exploring  Cambridge.  But  this 
morning  (they  all  left  for  the  West  this  after 
noon),  while  Mildred  was  packing  and  papa 
had  gone  to  see  about  tickets,  mamma,  with 
her  head  swathed  in  a  thick  black  veil,  and  I 
slipped  out  to  go  to  the  pawnbroker's.  I  have 
an  idea  that  by  going  herself  instead  of  simply 
sending  me  mamma  had  a  vague  but  noble  be 
lief  that  she  was  rescuing  me  somehow  from 
moral  shipwreck.  And  then,  no  doubt,  the 
mere  fact  of  one's  venturing  out  incognito,  as 
it  were,  to  wrest  ancestral  relics  from  usurious 
fingers  is  not  without  a  certain  charm. 

Well,  of  course  we  met  papa  at  the  door  of 
the  hotel.  The  ticket-office  was  just  around 
the  corner,  and  he  had  engaged  berths  and 
tickets  with  a  rapidity  that  was  as  unfortunate 
as  it  was  incredible,  for  he  greeted  us  with, 
"  Starting  for  a  walk  ?  I  'm  just  in  time," 
and  proceeded  to  join  the  expedition  with 
evident  pleasure.  Mamma  lingered  uneasily 
on  the  sidewalk  a  moment,  arid  then  said,  — 

"  We  're  not  going  for  amusement,  dear ; 
208 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

we  're  going  to  shop.  You  know  how  that 
always  tires  you."  But  papa,  who  was  in 
good  spirits  at  the  prospect  of  leaving  for 
home,  quite  unsuspiciously  ignored  the  sug 
gestion  and  replied  cheerily,  — 

"  Well,  I  think  I  '11  go  along  ,  I  might 
want  to  buy  something  myself." 

I  exclaimed,  "  How  jolly  !  "  in  a  sepulchral 
tone,  and  we  started. 

Now,  mamma  in  the  role  of  a  gay  deceiver 
is  sublime.  The  fact  that  she  is  trying  to 
play  a  part  and  perhaps  setting  "  an  awful 
example  "  makes  her  miserable,  although  she 
sometimes  succeeds  in  concealing  the  fact  un 
til  afterwards.  I  saw  that  we  were  in  for  a 
delightful  morning,  and  would  probably  end 
by  missing  the  train.  We  loitered  unscrupu 
lously  in  front  of  shop  windows,  apparently  en 
tranced  by  everything  from  hardware  to  cigars. 
We  sauntered  in  and  out  of  countless  dry- 
goods  places  in  quest  of  dark-blue  ribbon  of 
such  an  unusual  shade  that  Boston  had  never 
seen  its  like  ;  we  paused  for  half  an  hour, 
now  and  then,  to  inquire  the  price  of  diamond 
tiaras  and  alabaster  clocks  set  with  rhine- 
stones  ;  we  bought  a  bouquet  of  frost-bitten 
roses  (I  had  to  carry  it)  from  a  one-armed 
man,  and  tarried  to  hear  his  reminiscences  of 
14  209 


life  in  a  sawmill ;  we  went  to  pianola  recitals, 
phonograph  exhibits,  and  assisted  at  an  auc 
tion  sale  of  bar-room  furniture.  And  papa 
wearied  not.  Mamma  and  I  were  nearly  dead, 
but  he  not  only  wasn't  bored,  —  he  seemed  to 
be  having  the  time  of  his  life.  We  could  n't 
devise  anything  too  silly  and  futile  and  tire 
some  for  him  to  enjoy,  and  as  the  time  before 
the  train  left  was  beginning  to  grow  ominously 
short,  mamma  at  last  resorted  to  heroic 
measures. 

I  don't  think  she  had  formed  any  definite 
plan  when  she  abruptly  led  us  into  the  sub 
way  ;  but  our  going  there  was  probably  not 
unconnected  in  her  imagination  with  the  bound 
less  opportunities  for  losing  oneself  in  the  sew 
ers  of  Paris  and  the  catacombs  of  Rome. 
The  subway  may  or  may  not  resemble  these 
historic  places,  —  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know,  — 
but,  at  any  rate,  after  we  had  been  there  five 
or  six  minutes  we  lost  papa. 

We  all  three  had  stood  aimlessly  watching 
the  cars  whizz  up  to  the  platform  and  away 
again  into  the  subterranean  dusk,  until  paps 
(this  was  his  first  sign  of  impatience)  mildly 
remarked,  "  I  think,  dear,  that  as  you  and 
Tommy  seern  to  be  rather  attached  to  this 
place,  I  '11  buy  a  newspaper."  Then  he 

2IO 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

strolled  off,  and  mamma  clutched  me.  We 
watched  him  approach  the  news-stand  and 
pick  up  a  magazine.  His  back  was  partly 
turned. 

"  It  's  our  only  chance,"  said  mamma 
hoarsely,  with  a  half-guilty,  half- affectionate 
glance  towards  the  news-stand.  I  under 
stood  and,  seizing  her  hand,  ran  with  her  to 
the  nearest  car.  An  instant  later  we  were 
buzzing  through  the  bowels  of  the  earth  in 
quite  the  opposite  direction  from  the  pawn 
shop. 

To  tell  the  truth,  the  only  thing  I  knew 
about  the  locality  of  Mr.  Hirsch's  establish 
ment  was  that  we  should  never  reach  it  unless 
we  got  out  and  took  a  car  going  the  other 
way.  This  we  did,  and  when  I  thought  we 
had  gone  far  enough  on  the  return  trip  and 
we  emerged  once  more  into  the  daylight,  we 
seemed  to  be  miles  from  the  place  —  the  only 
place  —  from  which  I  could  have  found  my 
way.  So  we  jumped  into  a  cab  and  told  the 
man  to  drive  as  quickly  as  he  could  to  that 
place.  (I  had  to  describe  it  at  some  length, 
as  I  don't  as  yet  know  the  names  of  many 
streets  here.)  He  was  very  intelligent,  how 
ever,  and  it  was  n't  his  fault  that,  after  we 
had  jolted  along  for  four  or  five  blocks,  the 

211 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

horse  fell  down.  We  left  him  lifting  one  of 
the  poor  thing's  nervous  hind  legs  in  and  out 
of  the  tangled  harness.  He  looked  as  if  he 
were  trying  to  solve  some  kind  of  a  gigantic, 
hopeless  puzzle,  We  hurried  on  for  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and  then  I  suddenly  dis 
covered  that  we  had  been  in  the  right  street 
all  the  time.  It  was  one  of  those  queer  streets 
that  never  look  familiar  when  you  're  going 
the  other  way.  I  confess  it  took  a  great  deal 
of  courage  to  impart  this  discovery  to  mamma; 
but  she  appreciated  the  fact  that  we  had  very 
little  time  to  lose,  and  did  n't  stop  to  point  out 
to  me  that  if  I  ever  become  a  business  man, 
I  '11  be  a  failure.  The  horse  was  on  his  feet 
again  when  we  got  back  to  the  cab,  so  we 
jumped  in  once  more,  and  after  an  intermi 
nable  drive  (half  of  me  was  out  of  the  window 
most  of  the  time,  like  a  Punch-and-Judy  doll, 
directing  the  cabman)  we  finally  drew  up  in 
front  of  the  pawn-shop.  It  was  then  that  we 
really  distinguished  ourselves. 

"I've  come  for  my  watch,"  I  said  to  Mr. 
Hirsch.  He  gave  me  the  look  of  a  bird  of 
prey.  It  reminded  me  of  an  eagle  I  had  seen 
once,  —  an  eagle  that  had  been  stuffed  by  an 
amateur.  He  held  out  his  hand  and  spoke 
a  solitary,  fateful  word.  Mamma's  faoe  — 

212 


THE    DIARY   OF   A  FRESHMAN 

in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  she  had 
pushed  up  her  veil  —  became  dim  with  horror  ; 
her  features  for  an  instant  were  positively 
incoherent. 

"The  ticket?"  she  whispered  gropingly. 
"It's  in  the  bottom  of  my  trunk." 

Mildred  and  papa  and  a  group  of  porters, 
peering  up  and  down  the  street  like  a  con 
course  of  Sister  Annes,  were  on  the  curbstone 
in  front  of  the  hotel  when  we  got  back.  The 
baggage  was  piled  on  a  wagon,  papa  looked 
haggard  and  years  older  than  when  I  had  last 
seen  him,  and  Mildred  gave  us  a  haughty 
stare  as  we  alighted.  Mamma  was  hustled 
wildly  from  the  cab  to  the  carriage,  and  I 
had  time  merely  to  peck  hastily  at  their  tense 
faces  and  gasp  good-by.  As  the  carriage 
swung  around  the  corner,  mamma  appeared 
for  a  moment  at  the  window,  exclaiming, 
"  I  '11  send  it  to  you  in  my  first  letter,"  and 
then  sank  from  view.  This  afternoon,  when  I 
returned  to  my  peaceful  little  abode  in  Cam 
bridge,  who  should  be  in  his  room  but  Berri  ? 
He  was  at  his  desk,  bending  earnestly  over  a 
big  pad  of  thesis  paper. 

"  You  've  finished  it,  after  all,"  I  said,  for 
the  floor  near  his  chair  was  littered  with  neat 
manuscript. 

213 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"  Yes,  it 's  finished,  —  fifty  beastly  pages 
of  it,"  Berri  answered,  as  he  jumped  up  to 
meet  me.  I  wanted  to  ask  him  all  about  it, 
—  how  he  had  managed  to  do  it  during  the 
gayeties  of  Washington,  and  if  it  had  taken 
much  time.  But  he  said  rather  wearily,  — 

"  Oh,  don't  let 's  talk  about  it;  I  'm  so  sick 
of  it,"  and  began  at  once  to  question  me  about 
my  trip  to  New  York.  We  chatted  for  about 
half  an  hour,  and  then  I  got  up  to  go  into  my 
room  and  unpack  my  trunk.  Thesis  paper 
is  n't  like  the  ordinary  paper  on  which  themes 
are  written  ;  it  has  a  margin  on  all  four  sides, 
and  as  I  had  never  used  any,  I  went  over  to 
Berri's  desk  to  examine  a  sheet  of  his. 

"  Why,  you  've  had  the  thing  type- written," 
I  exclaimed  ;  for  there  was  a  pile  of  type 
written  notes  in  front  of  the  thesis  paper. 
"  Why  don't  you  hand  it  in  that  way  instead 
of  copying  it  again  ?  Your  hand  is  so  hard  to 
read." 

Berri  wrinkled  his  forehead  in  a  queer,  an 
noyed  kind  of  way  ;  then  he  looked  confused 
and  blushed  a  little,  and  finally  he  gave  an 
uncomfortable  laugh. 

"  Oh,  Granny,  you  're  so  brutally  guileless," 
he  murmured.  "  Why  can't  you  just  see  and 

understand  things  ?     It  sounds  so  much  worse 

214 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

than  it  really  is,  when  you  make  me  say  it  in 
so  many  words."  Even  then  I  didn't  alto 
gether  grasp  the  situation. 

"  You  mean  that  somebody  helped  you  ?  " 
I  asked.  That  did  n't  seem  to  me  worth  mak 
ing  such  a  fuss  about,  somehow. 

"  Well,  that 's  a  very  refined  and  ladylike 
way  of  putting  it,"  he  answered.  "  I  got  a 
man  in  the  Law  School  to  write  it  for  me, 
and  paid  him  ten  dollars  for  his  trouble." 

I  had  never  thought  much  about  this  sort 
of  thing,  and  it  was  impossible  all  at  once  to 
know  just  where  I  stood  in  the  matter.  I 
did  n't  know  what  to  say,  and  I  think  I  blurted 
out, — 

"Oh,  Berri,  I  'm  so  sorry." 

"  Well,  I  'm  sorry  you  know  about  it," 
Berri  mused  drearily.  <c  No,  I  'm  not,  either," 
he  added  quickly,  after  a  moment ;  "  I  'm 
darned  glad,—  for  now  that  you  know,  you 
can  do  what  you  like ;  I  'm  not  playing  the 
hypocrite,  anyhow.  Only,  don't  talk  to  me 
about  it.  I  've  thought  the  whole  thing  over 
from  every  point  of  view  ;  it 's  the  only  thing 
I  can  do.  I  'm  willing  to  run  the  risks,  and 
I  'm  going  to  do  it." 

It  was  impossible  to  go  back  to  other  topics 
after  that,  so  1  went  into  my  room  and  un~ 

215 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

packed  my  trunk.  I  don't  believe  I  ever 
unpacked  so  carefully  and  put  everything 
away  so  neatly  before.  Mrs.  Chester  came 
in  and  complimented  me  as  I  was  finishing. 
It  must  have  been  because  I  was  thinking. 

With  all  my  thinking,  however,  I  can't  say 
that  I  've  got  much  farther  than  I  was  when 
Berri  first  told  me.  I  simply  know  that  he 
oughtn't  to  have  done  it,  and  am  very,  very 
sorry  that  he  has.  If  he  tried  to  defend  him 
self  in  any  way,  I  could  have  it  out  with  him  ; 
but  he  doesn't.  When  he  finished  copying 
the  thesis,  he  came  into  my  room  and  said, 
"  I  'm  going  over  to  drop  this  through  Fleet- 
wood's  door ;  do  you  want  to  go  along  ?  "  and 
I  went  with  him,  hoping  that  at  the  last  min 
ute  he  might,  in  his  unexpected  way,  change 
his  mind.  On  the  way  over  he  did  burst  out 
with,  — 

et  You  see,  it 's  this  way  :  If  I  did  n't  know 
Fleetwood  so  well,  I  should  n't  do  it ;  I 
shouldn't  care.  But  he'll  think,  if  I  fail  to 
hand  in  the  written  work,  that  I'm  presuming 
on  the  fact  that  we've  breakfasted  together 
at  The  Holly  Tree  and  gone  to  the  theatre 
and  all  that.  I  hate  that  kind  of  thing."  I 
tried  to  make  him  see  that  Fleetwood  would  n't 
look  at  it  in  this  way  at  all,  and  that  even  if 

216 


he  did  it  would  be  his  fault,  not  Berri's.  But 
Berri  answered :  "  You  need  n't  go  on  to  tell 
me  how  dishonest  it  is,  —  I  know  all  that. 
I  'm  not  worse  than  lots  of  other  people, 
though;"  and  by  that  time  we  had  reached 
Fleetwood's  door.  I  put  my  hand  on  his 
arm  as  he  was  about  to  drop  the  thesis 
through  Fleetwood's  letter-slide  and  said, 
"  Please  don't,  Berri ;  wait  until  to-rnorrow 
morning,  anyhow;"  but  he  pushed  the  roll 
through  the  door,  and  as  it  fell  with  a  thud 
inside,  he  laughed  and  answered,  — 

"  Too  late.  Now  I  'm  going  to  forget 
about  it."  He  went  to  town  for  dinner,  and  I 
had  mine  about  an  hour  ago  at  Mrs.  Brown's. 
I  was  the  only  one  there.  In  a  few  minutes 
I  have  to  go  out  again,  as  I  promised 

Later. 

Just  as  I  had  written  that  far,  the  front 
door  opened  and  slammed  and  the  tin  steps 
clattered  as  they  only  do  when  Duggie  is 
coining  up.  The  loneliness  of  the  house,  and 
the  feeling  that  college  opened  to-morrow,  and 
Duggie  on  the  stairs  all  took  me  back  to  my 
first  evening  in  Cambridge.  The  only  differ 
ence  was  that  instead  of  going  to  his  own  room 
Duggie  this  time  came  bursting  into  mine. 

217 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"  I  came  to  say  good-by,"  he  exclaimed  ; 
and  when  I  got  over  my  astonishment,  he 
went  on  to  tell  me  that  he  had  decided  during 
the  vacation  to  go  away  —  to  E  urope  —  and 
stay  until  Class  Day.  He  had  never  told  me 
before  that  he  had  taken  his  degree  in  three 
years,  and  that  it  would  n't  have  been  neces 
sary  for  him  to  come  back  this  year  at  all  if 
he  hadn't  wanted  to.  He  has  been  entitled 
to  his  degree  for  months  ;  but  of  course  he  is 
anxious  to  graduate  with  his  own  class  in  the 
spring.  He  has  n't  talked  to  any  one  about 
going  abroad,  as  he  was  n't  sure  of  it  until  a 
few  days  ago. 

"  I  'm  leaving  on  the  midnight  train  to 
night,"  he  said,  "  and  I  came  out  here  on  the 
chance  of  your  having  got  back.  My  family 
are  all  in  the  country,  I  left  them  this  after 
noon."  I  wanted  to  tell  him  how  sorry  I  was 
that  he  was  leaving  us,  and  how  glad  I  was 
that  he  could  go ;  but  somehow  I  don't  think 
I  showed  what  I  really  felt.  The  time  was 
so  short  (I  had  promised  Duncan  Duncan  to 
help  him  with  some  Advocate  editorials  at 
half  past  eight  ,  and  those  things  never  seem 
to  sound  the  way  I  should  like  to  have 
them.  But  in  a  way  I  had  an  opportunity 
to  let  him  know  how  I  felt  toward  him,  for 

218 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

while  we  were  sitting  there,  he  laughed  and 
said,  — 

"  As  you  won't  stay  and  talk  to  me,  I  think 
you  might  at  least  do  the  next  best  thing. 
You  know  I  've  always  wanted  to  read  this, 
and  now  that  I  'm  going  away,  you  ought  to 
let  me."  Then  he  took  my  diary  from  the 
mantelpiece  and  pretended  to  read  the  first 
page. 

My  first  impulse  was  to  ask  him  not  to.  If 
he  had  been  going  to  stay  in  Cambridge,  I 
should  n't  have  let  him,  of  course  ;  but  as  he 
was  leaving  in  a  few  hours  and  seemed  anxious 
to  read  the  thing,  and  as  it  really  did  n't  make 
any  difference  whether  he  did  or  not,  I  finally 
let  him. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  want  to,  and  you 
probably  won't  get  beyond  the  first  few  pages, 
but  you  may,"  I  said. 

So  I  left  him  by  the  fire  with  the  diary  in 
his  hand.  I  thought  perhaps  I  should  find  a 
note  about  it  when  I  got  back  this  evening, 
but  I  didn't. 


219 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


xn 

kOOR  Berri !  I  felt  so  sorry  for  him. 
I  do  yet,  in  fact ;  for  although  things 
can't  possibly  turn  out  in  the  way  he 
thinks  they  may,  I  can't  tell  him  so, 
and  he  lives  in  a  state  of  perpetual  dread. 
But  it  won't  last  long  now  ;  Duggie  s  steamer 
must  have  almost  reached  Southampton  hy 
this  time,  and  it  won't  take  more  than  a  week 
or  eight  days  for  Berri  to  hear  from  Duggie 
himself.  I  came  very  near  giving  the  thing 
away  at  one  time.  It 's  hard  not  to,  al 
though  I  realize  that  Duggie  was  wise  when 
he  asked  me  to  let  matters  take  their  course. 

It  just  happened  that  the  next  day  after 
Berri  had  delivered  his  thesis,  the  talk  at 
luncheon  turned  on  cheating  at  exams  and 
handing  in  written  work  that  is  n't  your  own. 
The  sentiment  against  cheating  seemed  to  be 
strong,  partly  from  a  sense  of  honor  and  partly 
from  a  sense  of  risk.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I 
don't  see  how  fellows  can  very  well  manage  to 
cheat  here  —  during  an  examination,  that  is 
to  say  —  even  if  they  want  to.  There  are 
always  a  lot  of  proctors  prowling  up  and  down 
the  room,  ready  to  jump  on  anybody  who  has 

220 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

suspicious-looking  bits  of  paper  on  his  desk, 
or  who  seems  to  be  unduly  interested  in  his 
lap  or  the  condition  of  his  cuffs.  And  then, 
besides,  assuming  that  the  instructor  occasion 
ally  gets  absorbed  in  a  newspaper  and  the 
proctors  stroll  to  the  windows  to  watch  the 
muckers  throwing  snowballs  in  the  Yard,  how 
could  a  student  prepare  himself  for  this  rare 
opportunity  ?  It  may  be  different  in  courses 
that  involve  the  exact  sciences,  where  certain 
definite  formulas  copied  on  a  small  bit  of 
paper  might  be  of  use  ;  but  in  the  sort  of 
things  I  take,  one  would  have  to  conceal  upon 
oneself  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica,  Ploetz's 
Epitome  of  History,  Geschmitzenmenger's 
Ancient  Art,  or  the  Dictionary  of  Biography, 
in  order  to  accomplish  any  really  effective 
deception. 

With  written  work  it  seems  to  be  easier. 
If  a  man  hands  in  a  theme  or  a  thesis  in  his 
own  hand,  the  instructors  are  more  or  less 
forced  to  accept  it  as  original,  unless  of  course 
it  was  taken  outright  from  a  book  and  they 
happen  to  be  familiar  with  the  book.  From 
what  the  fellows  at  the  table  said,  there  must 
be  more  of  this  sort  of  thing  done  than  I  had 
imagined  ;  although,  since  Berri  opened  my 
eyes,  I  could  believe  almost  anything.  One 

221 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

of  the  fellows  told  about  a  student  —  a  Junior 
—  he  had  heard  of  who  succeeded  in  getting 
himself  fired  two  or  three  years  ago  in  a  rather 
complicated  way.  He  was  engaged,  and  his 
lady-love  sent  him  a  poem  in  one  of  her  letters, 
saying  that  she  had  written  it  for  him.  The 
letter  arrived  while  he  was  struggling  with  a 
daily  theme ;  so  he  murmured  to  himself, 
"Tush!  I'll  copy  Araminta's  pretty  verses 
and  send  them  in  as  my  own ;  as  they  have 
just  gushed  from  her  surcharged  heart  into 
her  letter,  no  one  will  be  the  wiser."  A  few 
days  later  the  omnivorous  Advocate  asked 
permission  to  print  them,  and  as  they  had 
received  words  of  praise  from  the  instructor, 
and  as  the  fellow  by  that  time  had  no  doubt 
begun  to  believe  he  had  written  them  himself, 
he  allowed  them  to  be  published  under  his 
name.  Somebody  sent  a  copy  of  the  Advo 
cate  to  Araminta,  who  replied  with  an  indig 
nant  letter  to  her  futur;  and  while  he  was 
trying  to  think  up  an  explanation  of  the  mat 
ter  with  which  to  pacify  her,  somebody  else 
came  out  in  the  Crimson  with  a  most  wither 
ing  communication,  asking  how  the  Advocate 
dared  to  print  as  original  a  poem  that  had 
been  written  by  his  grandfather,  the  late 
Donovan  H.  Dennison,  whose  complete  po- 

222 


THE    DIARY   OF  A   FRESHMAN 

etical  works  ("Dan  Cupid  and  other  Idyls") 
could  be  found  in  the  college  library  at  any 
time.  Whereupon  the  student,  disgusted  at 
his  lady-love's  dishonesty  in  palming  off  the 
late  Donovan  H.  Dennison's  verses  as  origi 
nal,  broke  his  engagement ;  and  the  college, 
disgusted  with  the  student  for  precisely  the 
same  reason,  "separated"  him  (to  use  the 
suave  official  phrase)  from  the  University. 

There  was,  as  I  said,  a  great  deal  of  talk 
at  luncheon  that  day  about  cheating.  Some 
of  the  men  seemed  to  think  the  presence  of 
proctors  during  an  exam  was  insulting  ;  but, 
as  Bertie  Stockbridge  remarked,  —  and  this 
struck  me  as  unanswerable,  —  "  If  you  don't 
cheat  yourself  and  don't  want  to,  what  differ 
ence  does  it  make  whether  they  're  there  or 
not  ?  And  if  you  do  cheat,  why,  of  course, 
proctors  are  necessary."  In  the  matter  of 
dishonest  written  work  the  same  honorable 
sentiments  were  expressed.  Everybody  was 
sincere,  but  I  could  n't  help  realizing  a  little 
that  they  could  not  have  had  very  much  temp 
tation  as  yet.  If  it  had  n't  been  for  Berri,  I 
probably  should  have  laid  down  the  law  as 
loudly  as  the  rest.  But  he  sat  there  eating  in 
silence,  irritated  and  oppressed  by  so  much 
high-minded  babbling,  and  I  hated  to  hurt  him 

223 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

by  adding  to  it.  Usually  he  is  one  of  the  last 
to  leave  the  table.  That  day,  however,  he 
hurried  through  his  luncheon  and  slipped  away 
alone. 

Oh  dear !  (How  silly  those  two  words 
look  written  down,  and  yet  it  was  what  was 
passing  through  my  mind  as  I  wrote  them.) 
I  suppose  that  what  I  really  mean  is,  How 
tiresome  it  is  that  a  person's  acts  don't  begin 
and  end  with  himself!  There  doesn't  seem 
to  be  any  limit  to  the  reach  of  their  influence. 
It  would  be  so  much  more  simple  and  easy  if 
you  knew  just  where  the  consequences  of  a 
mistake  or  an  indiscretion,  or  whatever  you 
choose  to  call  it,  began  and  ended.  Now, 
for  instance,  take  Berri  and  the  thesis.  Of 
course,  I  think  it  was  all  wrong,  and  was 
sorry  he  handed  it  in  ;  but  I  was  n't  going 
to  let  it  make  any  difference  in  my  feelings 
toward  Berri.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I 
don't  think  it  has  made  a  difference.  Yet  the 
beastly  thing  cast  a  sort  of  gloom  over  the 
house.  For  Berri  after  luncheon  that  day 
rather  avoided  the  table  in  general  and  me  in 
particular.  What  his  object  was  in  doing 
this,  I  don't  know.  It  was  probably  just  a 
feeling  on  his  part ;  but  it  made  me  feel  as  if 
I  'd  been  putting  myself  on  a  moral  pedestal 

224 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

somehow,  and  that  Berri  saw  in  me  a  perpet 
ual  accusation.  Our  relations  became  inde 
scribably  changed  and  sort  of  formal,  and  I 
did  n't  see  how  I  could  make  them  different. 
What  could  I  have  done?  There  was  noth 
ing,  under  the  circumstances,  for  me  to  say. 
He  stopped  in  my  room  that  night  to  warm 
himself  for  a  minute  before  going  to  bed,  but 
I  don't  think  he  said  anything  except  that  it 
was  snowing  outside. 

The  next  day  we  had  the  blizzard.  People 
here  usually  assume  that  in  the  part  of  the 
country  I  come  from  we  have  nine  months 
of  winter  and  three  of  cold  weather.  But 
nevertheless  I  had  to  come  to  the  staid  and 
temperate  East  to  see  the  kind  of  a  winter 
storm  you  read  about  in  books,  —  the  regular 
old  "  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus  "  kind,  in  which 
the  crew  are  "  swept  like  icicles  from  the 
deck,"  and  able-bodied  men  get  hopelessly 
lost  and  are  frozen  to  death  in  their  own  front 
yards.  I  was  to  have  dined  in  town  that  night 
with  Hemington,  who  had  tickets  for  a  Fade 
rewski  recital.  But  he  did  n't  turn  up,  so  I 
joined  some  fellows  who  found  me  in  the  res 
taurant  eating  alone,  and  afterwards  went  to 
the  theatre  with  them.  It  was  snowing  when 
we  left  the  restaurant ;  in  fact,  great,  wet 
15  225 


cottony  flakes  had  been  falling  at  intervals  all 
day.  (It  reminded  me  of  those  marvellous 
paper  weights  I  haven't  seen  for  years  and 
years,  —  glass  globes  filled  with  water  in 
which  a  white,  powdery  sediment  swirls  and 
drifts  and  finally  settles  in  the  most  lifelike 
way  on  a  beautiful  little  tin  landscape. 
What's  become  of  them  all,  I  wonder?)  But 
there  was  no  wind,  and  it  was  n't  particularly 
cold,  so  I  don't  think  that  anybody  suspected 
what  was  going  to  happen  before  the  show 
was  over. 

It  took  an  unusually  long  time  to  get  out 
of  the  theatre  that  night ;  the  people  in  the 
aisles  hardly  moved  at  all.  But  after  we 
had  forced  our  way  through  the  crowd,  and 
climbed  over  seats,  and  finally  reached  the 
narrow  corridor  leading  to  the  entrance,  we 
saw  why  it  was.  The  ones  who  had  got  to 
the  door  first  were  afraid  to  leave.  Within 
an  hour  or  two  the  wind  had  risen  and  risen 
until  it  screamed  through  the  streets,  blasting 
up  the  fallen  snow  in  wild  bewildering  spirals 
and  then  fiercely  slapping  it  back  again  in 
slants  of  hard,  biting  cold.  From  the  door 
of  the  theatre  it  was  impossible  to  see  beyond 
the  curbstone,  except  when  the  half-obliter 
ated  lights  of  a  cab  lurched  by  over  the  drifts. 

226 


The  rumor  went  through  the  crowd  that  the 
wires  were  down  and  that  all  the  cars  had 
stopped.  No  one  seemed  to  know  quite  what 
to  do.  Just  as  the  people  nearest  the  door 
would  make  up  their  minds  to  start  bravely 
out,  a  thick  hurricane  would  strike  erratically 
in  at  them,  causing  the  ladies  to  shrink  back 
with  little  exclamations  of  dismay.  Nobody's 
carriage  had  arrived,  and  the  few  cabs  that 
appeared  ploughed  laboriously  past  us.  Our 
crowd  waited  a  few  moments,  —  more  to  share 
the  excitement  of  the  others  than  for  anything 
else ;  then  we  turned  up  our  collars  and 
plunged  out. 

Standing  at  the  door  of  the  theatre,  the 
world  outside  had  seemed  to  me  to  be  in  a 
sort  of  insane  uproar  ;  but  as  soon  as  we  got 
away  from  the  human  babble,  and  I  lifted  my 
head  and  opened  my  eyes  and  deliberately  re 
laxed  my  ears,  so  to  speak,  I  found  the  city 
almost  solemnly  silent.  Every  now  and  then, 
when  we  came  to  a  cross  street  or  turned  a 
corner,  there  was,  it  is  true,  a  sudden  shriek 
and  a  sort  of  rattle  of  fine  stinging  ice  parti 
cles  ;  but  as  long  as  I  could  keep  myself  from 
being  confused  inside  of  me,  while  we  were 
floundering  over  drifts  and  burrowing  with 
our  heads  through  the  walls  of  wind  that 

227 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

blocked  the  way  and  seemed  to  be  falling 
on  us,  I  could  n't  help  noticing  the  terrible 
muffledness  of  everything.  It  was  as  if  the 
place  were  being  swamped,  blotted  out, 
suffocated. 

When  we  reached  the  hotel  where  we  had 
dined  earlier  in  the  evening,  the  other  fellows 
went  in  to  have  something  to  eat,  but  for 
several  reasons  I  decided  not  to.  In  the 
first  place,  I  promised  papa  that  I  would  try 
to  economize,  and  I  had  already  unexpectedly 
squandered  two  dollars  on  a  theatre  ticket, 
owing  to  Hemington's  failure  to  appear. 
Then  I  felt  that  if  I  did  n't  make  a  dash  for 
Cambridge  right  away,  I  should  n't  get  there 
at  all.  (As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  never  did 
reach  there  until  nine  the  next  morning,  but 
it  was  n't  because  I  did  n't  try  hard  enough. 
The  other  fellows  put  up  at  the  hotel.)  So 
I  just  shouted  that  I  was  going  on,  and  as  we 
were  all  about  half  frozen,  no  one  stopped  to 
persuade  me  not  to. 

Well,  I  found  a  string  of  cars  about  a  mile 
long  that  were  rapidly  turning  into  Esquimau 
huts,  and  was  told  by  one  of  the  conductors 
that  something  had  broken  down  ahead,  and 
that,  as  the  snow-plough  could  n't  get  by,  they 
probably  would  n't  move  again  until  morning. 

228 


THE    DIARY   OF   A  FRESHMAN 

He  thought,  however,  that  the  other  line  was 
running  ;  and  I  started  to  grope  my  way  to 
Bowdoin  Square. 

I  would  n't  go  through  that  experience  again 
for  gold  and  precious  stones ;  and  I  can't 
imagine  now  why  I  did  it  in  the  first  place, 
except  that  I  had  acquired  by  that  time  a  kind 
of  pig-headed  determination  to  reach  Cam 
bridge,  and  did  n't  know  what  I  was  in  for. 
It  was  n't  so  bad  while  I  was  staggering  along 
by  the  side  of  the  blocked  cars  ;  they  were 
lighted,  and  I  knew  that  if  I  changed  my 
mind  about  going  on,  I  could  pop  into  one  of 
them  and  be  safe.  But  when  I  passed  the 
last  one  and  found  myself  after  a  while  among 
back  streets  choked  with  drifts,  and  could  n't 
see  my  way,  and  fell  down  twice,  and  got 
snow  up  my  sleeves,  and  my  face  and  hands 
and  feet  pained  so  with  cold  that  I  could  n't 
help  crying  (actually),  and  I  realized  at  last 
that  I  did  n't  in  the  least  know  where  I  was, 
I  began  to  be  panic-stricken.  I  'm  not  the 
huskiest  person  in  the  world,  and  all  at  once 
the  wind  blew  me  smash  against  an  iron  rail 
ing  and  almost  into  a  basement  of  some  kind, 
I  think  I  should  have  hunted  for  a  door-bell 
and  tried  to  get  into  a  house  if  I  had  n't  a 
moment  later  collided  with  a  policeman  (fell 

229 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

down  again),  who  helped  me  up  and  led  me 
to  a  sheltered  place  behind  a  wall,  where  I 
managed  to  collect  myself  and  tell  him  what 
I  was  looking  for.  He  too  was  on  his  way  to 
Bowdoin  Square ;  so  after  that  I  just  hung 
on  to  his  coat  most  of  the  time,  and  tried  to 
keep  my  legs  in  motion  without  really  knowing 
much  where  he  was  leading  me  or  whether  we 
were  making  any  progress.  Once  there  was  a 
rip-tearing  crash  over  our  heads.  The  police 
man  jumped  aside,  and  then  stopped  to  ex 
claim,  "  Well,  I  never  seen  the  likes  o'  that." 
I  think  a  sign  had  blown  off  a  building  through 
a  plate-glass  window.  Farther  on  a  dangling 
wire  romped  in  the  wind.  It  spat  dazzling  blue 
and  purple  at  us  until  we  retreated  and  went 
around  another  way,  muttering  strange  Hiber 
nian  mutters.  When  I  opened  my  eyes  again, 
we  were  in  front  of  the  hotel  in  Bowdoin 
Square  and  the  policeman  was  advising  me 
through  his  frozen  mustache  not  to  go  to 
Cambridge.  He  said  the  cars  had  stopped 
long  ago.  So  I  said  good  by  to  him  and  was 
just  stumbling  into  the  cafe,  when  who  should 
come  out  but  Berri  and  a  cabman?  They 
had  gone  in  to  get  warm  before  starting  across 
the  bridge. 

"I'm  not  sure  that  we  can  make  it,"  Berri 
230 


said,  "  but  the  man  says  he's  willing  to  try. 
I  '11  tell  you  why  I  don't  want  to  stay  at  the 
hotel  when  we  get  inside.  Look  out  —  look 
out!"  he  cried  to  me,  as  I  opened  the  cab 
door  and  was  about  to  jump  in.  I  drew  back, 
expecting  at  least  to  be  decapitated  or  elec 
trocuted,  and  then  Berri  explained  that  he 
was  afraid  I  might  "  sit  on  the  pigeons."  He 
entered  the  cab  first,  and  removed  some  in 
distinguishable  objects  from  the  back  seat  to 
the  narrow  seat  that  lifts  up  in  front.  "  That 's 
why  I  can't  very  well  stay  at  the  hotel,"  he 
went  on.  "  As  soon  as  these  poor  exhausted 
little  darlings  begin  to  thaw,  they  '11  fly  around 
and  make  a  dreadful  fuss.  I  'd  rather  have 
them  in  my  own  room."  He  had  picked  up 
four  half-frozen  pigeons  in  the  street  on  his 
way  to  the  Square,  and  had  carried  them  — 
two  in  his  pockets  and  two  in  the  bosom  of 
his  overcoat  —  until  he  came  across  the  cab. 
After  we  got  started,  he  lighted  matches  every 
now  and  then  to  see  how  they  were  getting 
along,  and  we  took  turns  at  blowing  on  their 
pink  feet,  all  shrivelled  with  cold.  One  of 
them,  to  Berri's  grief,  was  dead,  but  by  the 
time  the  cab  stopped  suddenly  and  for  the 
last  time  in  the  middle  of  the  bridge  (it  had 
been  going  slower  and  slower  and  tipping 

231 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

more  perilously  over  mounds  of  snow  as  we 
proceeded),  the  other  three  looked  scared  and 
intelligent  and  began  to  feel  warm  under  their 
wings. 

The  driver  opened  the  door  and  said  he 
could  n't  go  on,  as  a  fallen  wire  was  sagging 
across  the  street  in  front  of  the  horse's  nose. 
We  jumped  out,  and  Berri  was  just  about 
to  seize  the  thing  and  try  to  lift  it  over  the 
horse's  head,  when  I  remembered  the  murder 
ous  ecstasy  of  the  other  one  and  jerked  him 
back.  Ahead  of  us  there  was  a  drift  almost 
as  high  as  the  cab  itself,  and  the  man  said 
that  even  without  the  wire  we  never  could 
drive  over  or  through  it.  So,  after  a  short 
consultation,  he  decided  to  blanket  his  nag 
and  spend  the  rest  of  the  night  in  the  cab  ; 
the  horse  was  "dead  beat,"  he  said,  and  he 
very  much  doubted  if  it  could  pull  back  to 
town  against  the  wind  even  after  turning 
around,  which  was  a  more  or  less  impossible 
undertaking  in  itself.  Berri  and  I  packed  up 
the  pigeons  —  the  dead  one  included,  as  Berri 
remembered  having  read  in  the  paper  that 
morning  of  a  case  of  "  suspended  animation  " 
somewhere  in  Texas  —  and  pushed  on  to  the 
waiting-station  at  the  other  end  of  the  bridge. 

That  was  a  queer  night.  I  was  simply 
232 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

played  out  when  I  got  inside  the  waiting- 
room,  and  I  had  n't  been  there  more  than  a 
few  minutes  when  I  discovered  that  my  ear 
was  frozen.  A  kind,  officious  woman  all  but 
broke  it  off  rubbing  snow  on  it ;  but  though 
it  pained  excruciatingly  during  the  night  and 
is  still  sensitive  and  has  a  tendency  to  stick 
out  at  right  angles  from  my  head,  I  think  it 
will  recover.  There  must  have  been  fifteen 
or  twenty  people  cooped  up  in  the  waiting- 
room  and  the  cigar-stand  (with  hot  soda-water 
and  candy  facilities)  next  door.  Some  of 
them  were  cross  and  unhappy,  and  some  of 
them  were  facetious.  One  of  them  had  a 
small  dog.  Berri's  pigeons  created  a  sensa 
tion.  The  cigar-man  gave  us  a  box  to  put 
them  under,  and  Berri  bought  them  popcorn 
for  fear  they  might  be  hungry  during  the 
night.  The  warmth  of  the  room  revived  them 
completely,  all  but  the  dead  one. 

We  talked  for  a  while ;  but  as  Berri  re 
membered,  now  that  the  excitement  was  over, 
to  be  formal  and  impersonal  once  more,  it  was 
rather  dreary.  We  could  have  slept,  I  think, 
—  in  fact  we  were  asleep,  when  one  of  the 
facetious  refugees  woke  us  up  to  ask  if  we 
did  n't  want  to  join  him  "  and  some  other 
gentlemen  in  a  game  of  euchre."  Disap- 

233 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

pointed  at  his  unsuccessful  efforts  to  interest 
people  in  this  diversion,  he  chased  the  little 
dog  about  the  room,  declaring  that  he  in 
tended  to  tie  a  glass  of  chocolate  around  its 
neck  and  send  it  out  in  the  storm  to  look  for 
travellers  who  had  lost  their  way.  It  was 
impossible  after  that  to  get  to  sleep  again. 

We  had  been  sitting  with  our  heads  against 
the  wall  for  almost  an  hour,  waiting  for  day 
light,  when  Berri,  who  had  n't  said  anything 
for  ever  so  long,  suddenly  came  out  with,  — 

"  Oh,  Granny,  I  'm  so  sorry  I  did  it !  "  I 
knew  what  he  meant  at  once,  although  the 
thesis  hadn't  been  in  my  mind  at  all,  and  I 
was  just  about  to  advise  him  to  have  a  talk 
with  Fleetwood  and  tell  him  everything,  when 
he  added  that  he  would  have  to  stand  by  him 
self  now,  as  it  was  too  late  to  draw  back. 

The  worst  of  the  storm  was  over,  the  cab 
man  had  come  in  to  get  warm  and  tell  us  that 
his  horse  had  frozen  to  death,  and  the  windows 
of  the  waiting-room  had  begun  to  look  pale 
instead  of  black,  by  the  time  I  convinced 
Berri  that  it  wasn't  too  late,  and  that  as  soon 
as  we  got  to  Cambridge  he  ought  to  go  to 
The  Holly  Tree  and  wait  until  Fleetwood 
came  in  for  his  breakfast.  When  he  finally 
made  up  his  mind  to  do  this,  I  never  saw 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

any  one  in  such  a  state  of  impatience.  He 
could  n't  sit  still,  and  kept  running  to  the  door 
every  other  minute  to  see  if  the  snow-plough 
was  coming  over  the  bridge.  Once  he  sug 
gested  that  we  should  walk ;  but  although 
the  morning  was  clear  and  beautiful,  I  had 
had  enough  of  struggling  through  mountains 
of  snow  the  night  before,  and  refused.  The 
plough  appeared  at  last,  preceded  by  a  whirl 
ing  cloud  and  followed  by  a  car.  We  set  the 
pigeons  free  (Berri  told  them  all  to  return 
with  olive  branches  as  quickly  as  possible) 
and  watched  them  fly  to  the  nearest  tele 
graph-pole  and  proceed  to  make  their  toilets 
for  the  day. 

It  must  have  been  about  half  an  hour  after 
I  parted  with  Berri  (he  went  on  to  The  Holly 
Tree  and  I  came  to  my  room)  that  he  bounded 
up  the  stairs,  pale  with  excitement.  He  had 
met  Fleetwood,  and  after  a  few  preliminary 
remarks  about  the  blizzard  (the  whole  place 
was  submerged)  he  had  blurted  out, — 

"  Mr.  Fleetwood,  I  want  to  tell  you  something 
about  my  thesis  ;  I  did  n't  write  it."  To  which 
the  instructor  replied  almost  indifferently,  — 

"  Yes,    I   noticed    that.      What    was    the 
trouble  ?  "    Berri  just  looked  at  him  in  amaze 
ment. 

235 


THE    DIARY   OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"  I  said  I  did  n't  write  it,"  he  faltered. 

"  Well,  I  know  that,"  Fleetwood  replied  a 
trifle  sharply.  He  was  inclined  to  be  "  peev 
ish,"  Berri  said,  because  the  morning  papers 
hadn't  been  delivered. 

"  But  I  want  to  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am," 
Berri  added ;  the  situation  was  much  worse, 
Berri  says,  than  it  would  have  been  if  Fleet- 
wood  had  seemed  more  impressed  by  his  dis 
honesty.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Fleetwood 
merely  smiled. 

"  Oh,  I  never  had  the  vaguest  idea  that  you 
would  write  it,"  he  remarked  airily.  "But  if 
you  don't  care,  I  don't.  It 's  much  easier  for 
me  to  give  you  an  E  for  having  failed  to  hand 
it  in,  than  it  is  to  read  fifty  or  sixty  pages  of 
your  impossible  writing." 

At  this  Berri  said  he  almost  reeled  from 
his  chair. 

"  Did  n't  I  hand  it  in?  "  he  asked,  while  his 
heart  thumped  painfully.  Fleetwood  glanced 
up  from  his  oatmeal  only  long  enough  to 
say, — 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  some  place  else  to 
eat ;  you  bother  me."  But  Berri  insisted. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Fleetwood,"  he  pleaded  eagerly, 
"  please  answer  me  just  that  one  thing.  Did  n't 
you  find  my  thesis  pushed  through  your  door  ?  " 

236 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

At  this  Fleetwood  put  his  hands  to  his  head, 
as  he  always  does  when  he  's  pretending  that 
we  're  trying  to  drive  him  mad,  and  moaned,  — 

"  First  you  tell  me  you  have  n't  written  your 
thesis  and  then  you  ask  me  if  I  've  picked  it 
up  on  my  floor.  Oh,  go  away,  go  away  !  I 
shall  never  be  able  to  finish  my  breakfast  and 
get  back  through  all  that  ghastly  snow  to  my 
ten-o'clock  lecture."  Then  Berri  dashed  out, 
forgetting  to  pay  for  his  breakfast,  and  came 
to  find  me. 

Fleetwood  must  think  that  Berri  is  n't  quite 
right ;  for  he  followed  the  instructor  around 
all  day  more  or  less,  waiting  for  him  at  the 
doors  of  lecture  halls,  intercepting  him  in 
front  of  the  Colonial  Club  at  lunch  time,  run 
ning  after  him  in  the  Square,  and  calling  on 
him  twice  at  his  room,  to  ask  if  the  thesis  had 
turned  up  yet.  But  of  course  it  never  had. 
At  that  time  neither  of  us  could  account  for 
its  disappearance,  and  Berri  can't  yet.  He 
is  existing  in  a  state  of  nervous  dread  for  fear 
it  "  may  have  fallen  behind  something "  in 
the  dark  vestibule  and  will  eventually  turn 
up.  Well,  it  will  turn  up,  but  not  in  Fleet- 
wood's  room. 

Berri  spent  most  of  the  time  in  which  he 
wasn't  dogging  Fleetwood's  footsteps  discuss- 

237 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

ing  the  thing  with  me.  But  I  could  n't  help 
him  much  beyond  hoping  that  the  thesis  — 
like  the  love-letter  or  the  lost  will  in  dramas 
at  the  Bowdoin  Square  Theatre  —  would  n't 
be  found  until  the  fifth  act,  after  an  elapse 
of  twenty  years. 

I  had  to  leave  him  alone  part  of  the  after 
noon.  Duncan  Duncan  sent  me  word  that 
he  was  sick  and  that  the  Advocate  was  in 
dire  need.  So  I  floundered  through  the  alley 
to  the  printing-office,  and  learned  from  the 
proof-reader  that  they  had  to  have  six  inches 
of  poetry  immediately  or  the  paper  would  be 
very  much  delayed.  I  did  n't  know  what  to 
do,  as  we  had  n't  any  poems  of  that  length  in 
stock,  so  to  speak.  While  I  was  sitting  there 
in  despair,  one  of  the  printers  gave  me  a  piece 
of  paper  and  a  pencil,  and  said,  — 

"  Here,  hurry  up  and  write  a  couple  of 
sticks  of  po'try  ;  I  want  to  go  home."  He 
was  quite  serious  ;  so  I  got  to  work,  and  in 
about  fifteen  minutes  had  written  twenty  lines 
about  the  pigeons  in  the  blizzard  ;  only  I  re 
ferred  to  them,  for  various  technical  reasons,, 
as  doves.  There  was  a  heavenly  smell  of 
printer's  ink  in  the  place  which  made  it  easier 
to  write  somehow. 

No  letters  came  that  day  from  any  direction 
238 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

on  account  of  the  storm.  The  next  afternoon 
I  met  the  postman  on  the  steps.  He  stopped 
to  chat,  and  I  thought  I  should  grab  the  let 
ters  from  his  hand  before  he  finished,  as  I 
caught  sight  of  one  in  Duggie's  handwriting 
addressed  to  me.  I  thought  of  course  that  he 
had  postponed  his  trip  and  had  written  to  tell 
me  why.  The  postman  talked  on  and  on,  but 
he  told  me  one  tale  that  interested  me  in  spite 
of  myself. 

One  Sunday  morning  old  Professor  Pallas 
(my  ally  in  the  hieroglyphics  course)  went 
over  to  the  post-office  for  his  letters.  He 
must  have  been  thinking  very  deeply  about 
recent  discoveries  or  cuneiform  inscriptions  or 
some  such  thing,  because  when  he  went  up 
to  the  window  he  could  n't  remember  whose 
letters  he  had  come  for.  So  he  said  to  the 
clerk,  — 

"  Young  man,  do  you  know  who  I  am  ?  " 

The  clerk  unfortunately  was  a  new  one,  and 
had  to  confess,  with  regret,  that  he  didn't. 
So  Professor  Pallas,  after  a  moment  or  two 
of  reflection,  looked  up  and  murmured  through 
the  window,  — 

"  I  ask  you  this  because  I  am  equally  at  a 
loss  myself;  but  perhaps  if  I  take  a  little 
walk  it  may  come  to  me."  Then  he  strolled 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

away,  and  in  about  ten  minutes  returned,  very 
much  pleased,  with  a  slip  of  paper  in  his 
hand. 

"  I  remembered  it  all  by  myself,"  he  ex 
claimed,  "  and  wrote  it  down." 

I  got  Duggie's  letter  at  last,  and  ran  up 
stairs  to  read  it.  This  is  what  it  said  :  — 

DEAR  GRANNY,  —  We  are  steaming  slowly  out  of 
the  harbor,  and  I  am  sitting  in  a  sheltered  corner  of 
the  deck  writing  you  this  note  for  the  pilot  to  take 
back  with  him.  My  fingers  are  stiff  with  cold,  but  as 
the  air  down  below  is  thick  with  what  Mrs.  Chester 
calls  "  floral  tributes,"  I  'd  rather  stay  here  and  say 
good-by  to  you  and  the  Goddess  of  Liberty  at  the  same 
time. 

What  I  wish  particularly  to  do,  however,  is  to  thank 
you  for  letting  me  read  your  diary  last  night  (I  have 
some  things  to  say  about  it  —  the  parts  where  I  come 
in,  I  mean  —  but  that  can  wait)  and  to  make  a  con 
fession.  When  I  got  to  the  last  page,  where  the  ink 
was  scarcely  dry,  I  dashed  over  to  Fleetwood's  room, 
although  I  had  lingered  so  long  in  your  room  I  did  n't 
have  any  too  much  time  in  which  to  catch  my  train. 
Fortunately  there  was  a  light  in  Fleetwood's  window. 
While  I  was  talking  to  him  I  saw  out  of  the  corner 
of  my  eye  the  great  pile  of — is  the  plural  "theses" 
or  "  thesises "  ?  —  on  his  desk,  and  when  he  went  into 
his  bedroom  for  a  minute  to  get  a  book  for  me  to  read 
going  over,  I  sniped  Berri's  performance  from  the  top 
of  the  pile  and  stuck  it  in  my  pocket.  I  did  it  on  the 

240 


THE    DIARY   OF   A   FRESHMAN 

impulse  of  the  moment,  and  I  may  have  been  all  wrong 
—  I  don't  know ;  the  whole  thing  worries  me.  But 
don't  say  anything  to  Berri  about  it.  I  should  n't  care 
to  get  you  and  the  diary  into  trouble.  When  I  reach 
Southampton  I  '11  send  the  thing  back  to  him  with  a 
letter.  Good-by,  Granny.  Take  care  of  yourself  and 
write  often. 

DUQGIE. 


241 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


XIII 

SOME  day  I  'm  going  to  write  a  book 
about  Boston,  because  it 's  the  most 
wonderful  place  in  the  world.  I  sup 
pose  I  really  mean  by  this  that  it  is 
so  different  from  Perugia.  Berri,  of  course, 
would  have  to  help  me,  —  that  is,  he  would 
unless  I  lived  here  fifty  or  sixty  years  for  the 
purpose  of  gathering  notes.  It  would  take 
about  that  long  to  understand  everything  and 
be  able  to  write  intelligently  and  sympatheti 
cally.  Anybody,  of  course,  may  sojourn  for 
a  time  among  the  Bostonians  — just  as  he  may 
among  the  Chinese  or  the  strange  races  of  the 
Pacific  islands  —  and  record  his  impressions 
of  them.  But  1  don't  think  his  remarks  would 
be  more  valuable  than  the  ordinary  travel 
book  that  tells  you  merely  the  things  you 
could  tell  yourself  if  you  were  on  the  spot 
with  a  pencil  and  a  strong  right  arm.  Really 
to  know  the  place  you  have  to  be  born  and 
brought  up  here  ;  which  in  itself  amounts  to 
saying  that  Boston  will  never,  never  be  under 
stood.  For  the  people  who  were  born  and 
brought  up  here  know  and  won't  tell,  — 
"know  and  can't  tell,"  Berri  declares.  "It 

242 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

would  take  a  genius  to  do  the  thing  properly  " 
he  says,  "  and  Boston  went  out  of  the  genius 
business  some  thirty  or  forty  years  ago." 
^  Now,  Berri  was  born  in  Paris   ("  Paa-is, 
ern  girl  oi9J*  Paa-is,  Kentucky  ?  "  as  a  South' 
he  's  a  genius,  aiJyn^j  and  I  don't  suppose 
his  mother's  side,  more  coSiat  as  he  has,  on 
things  in  Boston  than  anybody  I  'm  cunts  and 
to  know  so  very  intimately,  and  as  he  seehi_ 
more  like  a  genius   than  anybody  I  've  ever 
seen  before,  what  he  tells  me  always  sounds 
somehow  as  if  it  were   the  real   thing.     He 
laughed,    though,    the   other   day  —  we   were 
taking  a  long  walk  —  when  I  said  this  to  him, 
and  answered  that  it  was  very  evident  I  did  n't 
know  what  the  real  thing  was. 

"I'm  not,"  he  added,  "if  for  no  other 
reason  than  that  I  am  able,  quite  seriously  at 
times,  to  consider  going  some  place  else  to  live 
after  I  finish  with  all  this."  And  he  fluttered 
his  hand  in  the  direction  of  Cambridge. 

"  Does  n't  anybody  else  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Mercy,  no  —  how  you  talk  !  "  he  ex 
claimed.  "Why  should  they?" 

"  I  suppose  I  was  thinking  of  papa,"  I  re 
plied  meekly.  "He  believes  it's  better  for 
most  young  men  to  get  away  from  home  and 

243 


THE   DIARY   OF   A  FRESHMAN 

start  life  for  themselves  as  soon  as  they  grow 
up  ;  they  're  always  boys  to  somebody  unless 
they  do,  he  says.     Then,  besides,  he  has  great 
faith  in  perfectly  new  places.     He  's  ofte^Jf^' 
me  that  even  Perugia  was  too  ofc*as   fifty-three 
for  a  young    manb.    °Berri  laughed, 
years  old  lr  important,  if  true,"  he  answered, 
uiit  what  has  it  to  do  with  Boston  ?  " 
"  Why,  I  merely  imagined  that  some  one  in 
this  part  of  the  world   might  have  the  same 
idea,"    I    suggested.     "  Now,   take   Duggie, 
for  instance.     Don't   you  think  that  Duggie 
wants  to  get  out  and  try  to  do  something  ?  " 

"Oh,  Duggie!"  said  Berri,  with  a  shrug. 
"  He  thinks  he  does  now,  but  he  really  does  n't. 
Of  course  Duggie  is  simply  slopping  over  with 
strenuousness  and  that  sort  of  thing.  But  he 
gets  most  of  it  out  of  books,  —  Fleetwood's 
books  at  that.  And  after  all,  as  I  say,  he  slops 
over  ;  it  '11  just  run  into  the  sand  without 
making  even  a  silly  little  hole.  After  a  while, 
when  he  gets  tired  of  reading,  and  thinking 
how  unworthy  everybody  else  is,  it  won't  do 
even  that.  Duggie  in  college  is  stunning  and 
a  leader  of  men ;  but  Duggie  at  forty  will  be 
leading  nothing  but  a  beautiful  purple  life 
down  there  at  his  country-place,  —  unless,  of 

244 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

course,  he  gets  fat  ;  if  he  gets  fat,  he'll  be  a 
stockbroker." 

"  Say,  Berri,  how  old  are  you,  anyhow  ?"  I 
asked.  I  know  he  is  older  than  I  am,  but  he 
never  will  tell  me  how  much,  —  he  did  n't  this 
time, — he  just  laughs,  and  says  his  early 
education  was  grossly  neglected  over  there  in 
Europe,  or  he  would  have  been  classes  and 
classes  ahead  of  me.  I  did  n't  like  what  he 
said  about  Duggie,  and  told  him  so.  He  an 
swered  that  I  'd  brought  it  on  myself,  and  I 
suppose  I  had. 

"Maybe  we'd  better  talk  about  Bertie 
Stockbridge,"  he  added.  "He's  my  third 
cousin,  you  know  —  but,  dear  me,  if  people 
begin  to  be  loyal  to  third  cousins,  Boston 
would  turn  into  a  sort  of  gigantic  asylum  for 
deaf  mutes.  I  don't  mind  what  you  say  about 
Bertie.  Besides,  he  's  a  more  perfect  speci 
men  than  Duggie,  because  Duggie  is  passing 
through  a  phase.  Even  Bostonians  some 
times  pass  through  phases  when  they  're  very 
young.  It  doesn't  happen  often,  though. 
The  truth  is,  Duggie  can't  decide  whether 
to  be  a  Greek  god  or  a  college  settlement. 
He'd  really  rather  be  a  Greek  god,  only  it 's 
so  immoral.  He'll  probably  end,  you  know, 
by  coming  out  of  his  trance  some  June  morn- 

245 


THE    DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

ing  and  finding  himself  married.  Then  it  will 
be  too  late  to  be  either  one  or  the  other. 
But  what  was  it  we  were  talking  about  ?  Oh, 
yes  —  Bertie.  Now,  Bertie  isn't  passing 
through  a  phase.  Not  on  your  life.  Bertie 
just  rose  Venus-like  in  a  state  of  hopeless 
completion  from  the  crystal  waters  of  the 
Back  Bay.  He  never  disappoints." 

"  But  I  like  Bertie,"  I  protested ;  "  not 
as  much  as  I  do  Duggie,  of  course.  But  I 
do  like  him;  he's  so  —  so  —  sensible." 

"Sensible!"  Berri  screamed.  "Why, 
child,  the  Stockbridge  family  is  all  sense. 
With  trousers  bagging  at  the  knee  and  Adam's 
apples  rising  and  falling  above  their  abashed 
collars,  Bertie's  ancestors  came  into  a  lovely 
foolish  world  and  created  sense.  That 's  all 
they  ever  do  now,  —  just  create  one  another 
and  sense.  So,  the  next  time  you  hear  some 
old  thing  groaning  about  the  scarcity  of  com 
mon-sense,  you  '11  know  that  it 's  because  the 
Stockbridges  have  it  all,  —  they  and  a  few 
friends  who  live  in  the  same  street  during  the 
winter  and  share  several  thousand  front  feet 
of  the  Atlantic  Ocean  from  May  to  Novem 
ber.  But  you  must  n't  think  I  don't  like 
Bertie  and  his  family,  —  perhaps  I  should 
simply  say  *  Bertie,'  for  Bertie  is  his  family, 

246 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

—  because  I  do,  you  know.  I  admire  him 
very  much,"  Berri  added  after  a  moment. 
"  He  radiates  a  sort  of  atmosphere  of  modest 
infallibility  that  makes  me  feel  exactly  as  I 
should  feel  if  I  suddenly  went  into  Appleton 
Chapel  and  found  the  Pope  there  reading  the 
Boston  Transcript.  Calmly  and  without  the 
slightest  tinge  of  bitterness,  I  admit  that 
Bertie  is  always  right. 

"  You  heard  what  he  said  to  Bobbie  Col- 
burn,  didn't  you?  It  was  after  the  hour 
exam  in  English  68,  and  we  were  all  in 
Bobbie's  room  comparing  notes.  Now,  Bertie 
had  passed,  of  course,  because  he  '11  always 
pass  in  everything,  whether  he  has  any  talent 
for  it  or  not ;  but  he  had  n't  passed  particu 
larly  well.  It  takes  a  person  of  some  imagi 
nation  to  get  a  good  mark  in  that  course. 
Bobbie  Colburn,  on  the  other  hand,  who  ap 
parently  had  n't  studied  at  all  and  who  'd  been 
having  a  fierce  time  the  night  before  the  exam> 
just  sailed  into  the  examination-room  with  a 
dress-suit  on  under  his  overcoat,  and  got 
through  brilliantly,  which  worried  Bertie  to 
death.  We  'd  all  made  some  comment  on  the 
matter,  and  finally  Colburn,  as  if  to  end  it, 
said  in  his  breezy  way,  '  Well,  you  know  the 
old  proverb,  —  He  laughs  best  who  drinks 

247 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

most ! '  Whereupon  Bertie  fixed  him  with 
his  fine  gray  eyes  and  remarked,  '  That  is  n't 
the  way  it  goes,  Colburn  ;  you  've  got  it 
mixed.'  Then  he  repeated  the  words  cor 
rectly,  —  not  with  triumph  exactly,  but  with 
the  cold  joy  of  one  whose  life  is  spent  in 
righting  unimportant  wrongs. 

"  And  yet  I  can't  help  confessing,"  Berri 
mused,  "  that  I  'm  exceedingly  glad  to  ac 
knowledge  my  relationship  to  Bertie  and  his 
tribe.  They  madden  me  at  times  ;  they  have 
such  clear,  narrow,  unelastic,  admirable  in 
tellects.  Their  attitude  toward  all  questions, 
public  or  private,  is  so  definite  and  uncom 
promising  ;  they  're  so  dog-gonned  right. 
Why,  American  history  is  just  one  glad,  sweet 
testimonial  to  the  fact  that  they  're  never 
wrong,  They  're  not  always  on  the  popular 
side,  or  the  successful ;  they  're  merely  right. 
Any  other  human  beings  would  keep  on  try 
ing  to  make  use  of  such  a  splendid  faculty. 
Years  and  years  ago  they  did  make  use  of  it  ; 
but  nowadays  it 's  enough  just  to  know  that 
they  have  it,  and  pretty  much  all  to  them 
selves. 

"  But,  as  I  was  saying,  I  'm  secretly  darned 
glad  that  Bertie  and  I  belong  to  each  other, 
so  to  speak.  Is  n't  it  funny  —  I  'm  not  a  bit 

248 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

loyal  to  Bertie,  but  he 's  perfectly  loyal  to  me. 
He  does  n't  in  the  least  understand  me.  I 
don't  think  he  even  likes  me,  although  that 
disturbing  thought  probably  hasn't  occurred 
to  him  yet ;  but  there 's  no  getting  around 
the  fact  that  I  'm  one  of  his  relatives,  and 
lie  accepts  me,  —  accepts  me  in  a  way  he 
never  will  accept  you,  no  matter  how  well  he 
gets  to  know  you  and  like  you.  There 's 
something  rather  fine  in  that,  don't  you  think  ? 
Of  course,  it  might  be  a  good  deal  of  a  bore 
if  he  took  a  fancy  to  me ;  but  as  he  won't, 
it 's  really  a  great  comfort.  The  fact  that 
that  plain,  but  healthy-looking,  silent  person 
in  the  very  badly  made  dark  gray  suit  ac 
cepts  me  and  will  always  accept  me,  is  equiv 
alent  to  an  illuminated  address  of  welcome 
and  the  freedom  of  the  city. 

"  You  really  can't  imagine  how  it  simplifies 
things,"  Berri  continued.  "It's  such  a  re 
lief,  such  an  absolution !  It  leaves  me,  as 
some  one  says,  '  with  nothing  on  my  mind 
but  my  hair  and  my  hat ;  '  and  even  they 
don't  have  to  be  brushed  as  long  as  people 
consider  me  a  Stockbridge  at  heart.  Why, 
if  I  didn't  feel  like  it,  I  shouldn't  have  to 
be  even  polite.  Of  course  I  am  polite.  But 
it 's  a  mere  habit  with  me ;  I  dare  say  I  '11 

249 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

get  out  of  it.  You  've  noticed,  have  n't  you, 
how  brusque  and  sort  of  primitive  Bertie's 
manner  is  as  a  rule  ?  Well,  they  're  all  more 
or  less  like  that.  People  who  like  them  say 
it  arises  from  shyness  and  simplicity,  and 
people  who  don't  like  them  declare  that  it 's 
just  common  or  domestic  rudeness ;  but  it 
really  is  n't  one  or  the  other,  and  I  think  I 
ought  to  know.  The  family  manner  comes 
from  a  curious  conviction  that  politeness, 
grace,  tact  —  the  practice  of  making  oneself 
agreeable  free  of  charge,  so  to  speak  —  has 
to  do  with  the  emotions  ;  which  is  perfectly 
absurd.  The  habit  of  politeness  is  about  as 
emotional  as  the  habit  of  brushing  one's  teeth. 
But  Bertie's  tribe  does  n't  think  so  ;  and  emo 
tion  with  them  is  simply  another  word  for 
effeminacy.  You  see,  they  're  so  sure  of 
coming  up  to  the  scratch  in  the  big  things 
that  they  let  the  little  ones  slide.  I  think 
they  always  vaguely  associate  politeness 
with  French  waiters  and  Neapolitan  crip 
pies.  So,  in  a  way,  they  '11  rather  expect  it 
of  you ;  they  like  all  foreigners  to  seem 
foreign." 

Bertie  gabbled  about  no  end  of  things  that 
afternoon.  He  had  what  he  calls  a  "  dry 
jag,"  and  hardly  ever  stopped  talking  from 

250 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

the  time  we  left  our  house  just  after  luncheon 
until  we  came  down  Brattle  Street  on  the  way 
back  and  went  into  Mrs.  Brown's  for  dinner. 
Once  he  and  a  lot  of  kids  coming  out  of  a 
schoolhouse  away  across  the  river  somewhere, 
pasted  one  another  with  snowballs  (I  joined 
them)  until  a  policeman  made  us  stop,  and 
for  a  few  minutes  the  torrent  of  talk  was  in 
terrupted.  But  he  made  up  for  it  by  yelling 
every  time  he  hit  any  one  or  got  hit  himself. 
He  told  me  all  sorts  of  tales,  and  I  could  n't 
help  thinking  how  different  everything  was 
from  Perugia. 

It  had  never  occurred  to  me  before  that 
Perugia  was  so  happy-go-lucky  and  uncivi 
lized.  Why,  out  there  we  just  seem  to  grow 
up  like  those  great  round  weeds  on  the  prairie 
that  suddenly  let  go  for  no  particular  reason 
and  then  bound  along  in  the  breeze  through 
the  wide  flat  streets  until  they  run  against  a 
fence  or  a  house  and,  for  a  while,  stick  there. 
It  does  n't  seem  to  me  that  anything  much  is 
decided  for  us  in  advance.  I  did  n't  know 
even  that  I  was  coming  to  college  until  about 
a  year  and  a  half  beforehand,  —  which  made 
it  simply  awful,  as  I  had  to  study  everything 
at  once  and  did  n't  learn  much  of  anything. 
Now,  Berri  says  that,  with  the  exception  of 

251 


THE    DIARY   OF   A  FRESHMAN 

himself,  who  was  "  grossly  neglected "  and 
never  studied  anything  but  French  and  Ger 
man,  his  entire  family  for  generations  has 
lived  by  a  sort  of  educational  and  social 
calendar  from  which  they  never  deviate  except 
in  the  event  of  a  civil  war.  He  says  he 
should  n't  be  a  bit  surprised  to  learn  that 
there  were  certain  definite,  unalterable  dates 
at  which  the  little  boys  began  and  left  off  tin 
soldiers  and  the  breeding  of  guinea-pigs,  and 
the  little  girls  began  and  left  off  paper-dolls 
and  "  dressing  up."  He  declares  that,  pro 
viding  the  laws  of  nature  are  reasonably  con 
sistent,  they  all  know  exactly  what  they  '11  be 
doing  at  any  period  of  their  lives ;  that  even 
matrimony  has  ceased  to  be  a  lottery  with 
them,  as  they  go  in  for  marrying,  not  individ 
uals,  but  types.  Is  n't  it  perfectly  wonderful  ? 
"  Now,  take  Bertie,"  he  said.  "  Bertie 
knew  who  his  classmates  in  college  were 
going  to  be,  at  the  age  of  five.  They  're  the 
same  chaps  he's  been  going  to  school  with, 
and  to  the  kid  dancing-classes,  you  know,  the 
Saturday  Mornings  and  Thursday  Afternoons 
or  whatever  they  are,  all  these  years.  They 
go  to  the  Friday  Evenings  this  year,  and  next 
year  they  '11  go  to  the  Saturday  Evenings,  and 
at  all  these  morns  and  noons  and  dewy  eves 

252 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRKSHMAN 


they  dance  v^  tne  same  girls  that  two  years 
/.po,.  -^w  they  '11  meet  in  society  and  subse 
quently  marry,  just  because  it 's  part  of  the 
routine.  After  they  get  out  of  college  they  'II 
all  go  abroad  for  a  few  months  in  groups  of 
three  and  four,  and  when  they  get  back  they  '11 
be  taken  into  the  same  club  (their  names  will 
have  been  on  the  waiting  list  some  twenty-odd 
years),  and  they  '11  join  a  lunch  club  down 
town  in  order  not  to  miss  seeing  one  another 
every  day  at  noon  for  the  rest  of  their  lives." 

Then  Berri  told  me  about  the  girls.  Really 
my  heart  bleeds  for  the  girls,  because  appar 
ently,  unless  they  are  terribly  pretty  or  terri 
bly  clever  or  terribly  rich,  they  must  have  a 
devil  of  a  time.  Berri  says  that  although  they 
all  "  come  out,"  they  don't  all  stay  out ;  that 
after  about  a  year  or  so  a  good  many  of  them 
sort  of  slink  in  again  by  unanimous  consent. 
(Imagine  such  a  thing  in  Perugia!  Why, 
every  girl  has  a  good  time  there  for  just  as 
long  as  she  wants  to.)  The  pretty  ones,  how 
ever,  never  go  in  again  ;  because,  if  you  once 
get  a  reputation  for  beauty  here,  Berri  says  it 
never  leaves  you  (the  reputation,  I  mean  ,  and 
that 's  why  an  evening  party  in  Boston  often 
strikes  a  stranger  as  being  so  largely  a  mat 
ter  of  physical  traditions.  At  a  dance  the 

253 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


rich  plain  girls,  he  says,  w,,  a  ?ood  dme 
but  only  for  the  first  part  of  the  eve^-..^.  rpi 
men  speak  of  them  as  "  pills  "  (a  quam*, 
chivalrous  custom,  is  it  not?),  and  try  to  dance 
with  them  as  early  in  the  evening  as  possible, 
because  everybody  else  is  trying  to  do  the 
same  thing  and  there  is  n't  so  great  a  chance 
of  getting  stuck  for  an  hour  or  so.  But  later 
on  they  ask  only  the  ones  they  really  want  to 
dance  with,  and  the  plain  rich  girl  finds  her 
self  spending  a  cozy  eternity  with  some  one 
who  is  inwardly  moaning  because  he  delayed 
until  the  rush  was  over. 

The  girls  too  are  born  into  a  sort  of  rut, 
Berri  says.  It  takes  the  form  of  sewing- 
circles.  Berri  can  discourse  for  hours  at  a 
time  on  these  institutions.  His  aunt  Joseph 
ine  has  been  going  to  the  same  one  every 
week  for  fifty  years.  He  said  that  once  when 
he  was  a  little  child  he  heard  an  Englishman 
who  had  lived  in  India  telling  about  the  mys 
terious  rapidity  with  which  a  piece  of  news 
spread  among  the  natives  of  that  country. 
Within  half  a  day,  this  man  declared,  a 
rumor  would  sort  of  leap  through  the  air  from 
Calcutta  to  the  most  obscure  villages  on  the 
Afghan  frontier,  and  no  one  could  explain 
how  it  was  done.  Berri  used  to  fall  asleep 

254 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

at  night  worrying  over  it.  But  now,  even  in 
India  romance  is  dead,  Berri  says  ;  he  's  con 
vinced  that  the  whole  thing  was  nothing  but 
j;;st  sewing-circles. 

"  Why,  Granny,  if  I  were  to  lock  myself 
up  in  my  room  in  Cambridge  and  draw  the 
curtains  and  stuff  the  keyhole  and  then  mur 
mur  in  a  low  voice  that  —  well,  for  instance, 
that  you  and  Sarah  Bernhardt  had  been 
quietly  married  at  the  First  Baptist  Church  in 
Somerville  that  afternoon,  and  then  dash  in 
to  my  aunt  Josephine's  as  fast  as  a  car  could 
take  me,  she  would  greet  me  in  the  library 
with  :  *  My  dear,  have  you  heard  !  I  've  just 
come  from  the  sewing-circle,  and  they  say  — 
of  course  I  don't  believe  it '  —  and  so  on.  And 
this  is  n't  any  idle  jest,  either  ;  it 's  a  fact." 

He  was  just  beginning  to  tell  me  something 
else  about  them — I  forget  what  —  when  we 
both  realized  that  it  was  rather  late,  and  that 
if  we  expected  to  get  back  in  time  for  dinner 
we  should  have  to  find  a  shorter  way  or  take 
the  car.  We  neither  of  us  knew  where  we 
were,  although  Berri  said  the  place  looked 
as  if  it  might  be  called  "  Upper- West-New- 
tonville-Centre  Corners."  So  we  stopped  a 
little  girl  who  was  trudging  along  with  a 
pitcher  of  milk  in  her  hand. 

255 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

<c  Little  girl,  can  you  tell  me  where  we 
are?"  Berri  asked  her  solemnly.  She  stared 
at  us  for  a  moment  with  great  round  eyes 
(Berri  admitted  afterwards  that  the  question 
was  a  stupid  one),  and  finally  answered  in  a 
high,  scornful  little  voice,  — 

"  Main  Street." 

Berri  refused  to  ask  again  after  that,  and 
we  strolled  about  for  a  time  until  we  caught 
sight  of  the  tower  of  Memorial,  —  it  suddenly 
appeared  against  the  sky  in  quite  the  wrong 
direction,  —  and  then  of  course  getting  home 
was  easy  enough. 

We  were  rather  confidential  on  the  way 
back,  and  talked  about  the  "  Dickey,"  which 
we  had  never  discussed  before.  The  Dickey 
is  the  great  Sophomore  secret  society.  I  don't 
remember  just  how  the  subject  came  up,  but 
something  reminded  Berri  of  one  night  earlier 
in  the  year,  —  one  of  the  nights  on  which  the  so 
ciety  takes  on  ten  new  members.  They  choose 
them  from  the  Sophomore  class  always  except 
late  in  the  spring,  just  before  college  closes, 
when  ten  —  the  "First  Ten"  —  are  elected 
from  among  the  Freshmen.  However,  by  that 
time  the  Freshmen  are  almost  Sophomores, 
so  it  amounts  to  about  the  same  thing.  When 
a  ten  is  taken  on,  the  whole  club  marches 

256 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

through  the  streets  at  about  eleven  o'clock  at 
night,  singing  a  song  that  has  no  words  but 
"  Tra  la  la  la,  la  la,  la  la."  It 's  a  wonder 
ful  little  tune ;  it 's  very  short  and  simple, 
and  after  you  've  heard  it  once  it  sticks  in 
your  head,  you  can't  forget  it.  Unlike  other 
catchy  airs,  though,  you  somehow  don't  get 
tired  of  it.  I  've  heard  it  over  and  over  again 
since  I  've  been  here,  —  on  pianos  as  I  passed 
under  the  windows  of  upper  classmen,  whistled 
by  muckers  in  the  Yard,  and  sung  by  the  club 
at  night,  —  and  it  always  gives  me  a  thrill ;  I 
suppose  it 's  because  it  means  such  a  lot, 
and  because  you  realize  that  no  one  (except 
the  muckers)  would  play  it  or  sing  it  or 
whistle  it  who  was  n't  entitled  to. 

On  the  night  that  Berri  referred  to,  the  club 
must  have  been  half  a  mile  away  when  we  first 
heard  it.  Berri  was  in  my  room  reading,  and 
I  was  writing  a  letter.  My  back  was  toward 
him,  and  we  neither  of  us  said  anything  when 
the  vague  musical  "  tra  la  la  las"  floated  up 
from  away  down  by  the  river  somewhere. 
They  were  very  faint,  and  after  a  minute  or 
two  stopped  entirely.  Then,  just  as  I  had  for 
gotten  about  it,  the  song  began  again,  —  a 
little  louder  and  more  distinct  this  time  and 
getting  louder  every  second.  Then  it  sud- 

'7  257 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

denly  broke  off  once  more.  But  I  didn't  for 
get  it,  for  I  knew  that  the  club  had  stopped  to 
take  some  one  out  of  his  room  —  some  one 
who  had  just  been  elected  —  and  march  him 
along  with  the  others,  and  I  waited  kind  of 
nervously  for  the  refrain  to  begin  again  ;  it 
never  gets  started  quite  evenly,  —  only  a  few 
voices  at  first,  the  rest  joining  in  as  the  crowd 
turns  away  from  the  door  of  the  "  neophyte's  " 
house  and  starts  along  the  street.  They  came 
nearer  and  nearer,  —  the  song  grew  louder 
and  louder.  Some  of  the  fellows  were  sing 
ing  a  clear  tenor  that  made  the  last  few  notes 
of  every  verse  die  away  in  a  kind  of  high,  sad 
wail.  It,  seemed  ridiculous  for  me  to  be  sit 
ting  there  pretending  to  write  a  letter,  with 
Berri  reading  in  such  elaborate  unconscious 
ness  by  the  fire,  when  the  ears  of  both  of  us 
were  strained  to  catch  every  note,  and  the 
hoarse,  fierce  shouts  that  suddenly  broke 
through  the  song  as  the  Dickey  turned  into 
our  street ;  but  neither  of  us  knew  what  to 
say  exactly.  At  last,  however,  I  could  n't 
stand  it  any  longer,  and  jumped  up  and  blew 
out  both  the  lamps.  With  the  room  dark  we 
could  stand  at  the  window  and  not  be  seen. 
Freshmen  aren't  expected  to  show  any  par 
ticular  interest  in  the  proceedings  of  the 

258 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

Dickey ;  it 's  considered  fresh.  They  were 
just  tramping  past  our  house  when  we  leaned 
out,  —  a  singing,  shouting,  irresistible  mob,  — 
and  Berri  and  I  looked  down  at  them  in 
silence.  We  were  both  excited,  and  I  felt 
chilly  all  over  —  but  that  may  have  been  on 
account  of  the  open  window.  The  crowd 
did  not  pass  on,  as  we  thought  it  would,  but 
stopped  at  a  house  across  the  street  a  few 
doors  down.  Once  more  the  song  ceased  ; 
men  formed  in  a  double  line  that  reached  from 
the  piazza  to  the  street,  and  there  were  hoarse 
cries  of  "  Pull  him  out  —  pull  him  out !  " 
Then  the  front  door  burst  open,  and  a  fellow 
—  he  seemed  to  be  half  dressed  —  came  hurt 
ling  through  the  air  between  the  double  row 
waiting  for  him.  There  was  a  moment  of 
confusion  and  savage  yells,  during  which  it 
looked  as  if  the  whole  crowd  was  trying  to 
get  its  hands  on  him.  We  lost  sight  of  him 
in  the  shuffle,  and  in  another  instant  the  song 
began,  louder  than  before,  and  the  Dickey 
swayed  away  into  the  darkness.  We  stood  at 
the  window  until  the  clearness  and  energy  of 
the  "Tra  la  la  la,  la  la,  la  la,"  faded  to  a 
thin,  dim,  uncertain  rhythm,  —  a  suggestion 
of  tenor  that  all  but  lost  itself  in  the  pearly 
fog  rolling  up  from  the  marshes. 

259 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

I  fumbled  for  a  match  when  we  turned  at 
last  to  the  room.  But  before  I  found  one, 
Berri  said,  "  I  think  I  '11  go  to  bed,  Granny," 
and  by  the  time  I  got  the  lamp  lighted  he  had 
slipped  away.  I  don't  know  why  exactly,  but 
I  was  rather  glad  he  hadn't  waited.  After 
that  I  tried  to  finish  my  letter,  but  I  could  n't 
make  myself  end  the  sentence  I  had  been 
writing  the  way  I  had  meant  to  end  it  in  the 
first  place.  So  I  put  the  thing  in  the  fire  and 
sat  there  awhile,  thinking,  and  then  went  to 
bed  myself. 


260 


THE    DIARY   OF   A  FRESHMAN 


XIV 

WELL,  as  I  said,  something  re 
minded  Berri  of  that  night,  and 
as  we  were  on  a  deserted  road 
far  from  Cambridge,  he  referred 
to  it,  —  indirectly  at  first,  and  afterwards  right 
out  in  so  many  words.  But  he  did  n't  talk  in 
the  same  free  and  airy  strain  he  had  been 
talking  in  before,  and  although  I  wanted  to 
hear  what  he  said  and  ask  questions  and  say 
a  few  things  myself,  I  had  a  feeling  all  the 
time  that  perhaps  we  ought  to  change  the 
subject ;  it  made  me  uncomfortable.  Then 
I  thought  of  the  way  I  had  talked  to  Duggie 
the  first  evening,  away  back  in  September, 
and  positively  blushed  when  I  remembered 
that  I  had  asked  him,  outright,  how  one  ought 
to  go  about  getting  on  clubs.  Why,  that  was 
enough  to  sewer  me  with  almost  anybody  in 
the  world  but  Duggie.  Imagine  my  doing 
such  a  thing  now !  No  one  ever  thinks  of 
mentioning  the  clubs  in  general  conversation. 
Of  course  once  in  a  while  some  fresh  kid  who 
happens  to  live  next  door  to  one  of  them  comes 
out  with  an  allusion  of  some  kind,  and  em 
barrasses  everybody  to  death ;  and  I  've  had 

261 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

one  or  two  upper  classmen  —  Juniors  or  Sen 
iors  —  who  had  n't  made  the  Dickey  and 
didn't  belong  to  a  club  talk  to  me  quite 
freely  about  the  whole  matter  in  a  tone  that 
implied  that  such  things  were  all  very  well, 
no  doubt,  but  did  n't  interest  them  particu 
larly.  You  can  get  a  good  deal  of  infor 
mation  from  upper  classmen  of  this  kind,  — 
fellows  who  are  n't  on  clubs  and  have  given 
up  expecting  to  be ;  they  don't  think  you 
fresh.  But  it  would  never  do  to  ask  for  any 
from  a  Dickey  man  ;  that  would  be  awful. 
Why,  you  'd  never  be  taken  on  if  you  did 
that. 

Even  Berri  does  n't  seem  to  know  much 
about  the  Dickey,  or,  if  he  does,  he  did  n't 
tell  me  anything  very  definite.  He  said, 
though,  that  if  you  didn't  make  it,  you  might 
just  as  well  pack  up  and  go  home ;  that 
Dickey  men  kind  of  flocked  together  and 
didn't  go  outside  much  for  their  friends,  and 
that  the  fellows  you  wanted  to  know  usually 
were  on  the  Dickey.  Then,  too,  he  said 
that  if  a  man  did  n't  make  the  Dickey,  he 
wasn't  likely  to  be  taken  into  a  club.  Berri 
seemed  to  know  a  lot  about  the  clubs.  I  knew 
hardly  anything  at  all ;  in  fact,  I  thought  the 
Dickey  was  a  club,  but  he  says  it  isn't, — - 

262 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

that  it 's  a  society.  The  clubs,  he  says,  are 
great.  His  uncle  took  him  to  one  for  break 
fast  once  before  he  —  Berri  —  got  into  college. 
(Of  course  he  couldn't  be  taken  to  one  now.) 
He  said  he  did  n't  notice  anything  particularly 
secret  about  it ;  it  was  just  like  one  of  the 
good  clubs  in  town.  I  found  out  the  names 
of  most  of  them  from  him  —  they  seem  to 
have  Greek  names,  yet  are  called  by  queer 
nicknames  as  a  rule  —  and  where  they  are. 
This  last,  however,  I  knew  pretty  well  before, 
but  I  did  n't  know  which  was  which,  and 
could  n't  ask  exactly.  I  had  often  seen  fel 
lows  going  in  and  out  of  certain  houses  along 
Mount  Auburn  Street  that  did  n't  look  like 
residences  somehow,  although  they  might  have 
been,  and  wondered  just  what  they  were.  At 
night,  even  with  the  shades  down,  they  were 
always  lighted  from  top  to  bottom.  No  mat 
ter  how  late  it  was,  the  lights  were  there, 
cheerful  and  inviting,  —  which  in  itself  seemed 
remarkable  when  I  considered  how  early 
Cambridge  (the  town,  I  mean)  goes  to  bed. 
But  one  morning  when  I  was  hurrying  to  a 
lecture,  two  fellows  came  out  of  Claverly 
Hall,  and  one  of  them  said  to  the  other, 
<c  Hold  up  a  minute ;  I  left  my  note-book  at 
the  club,"  and  dashed  across  the  street. 

263 


THE   DfARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

Then  it  suddenly  dawned  on  me.  Of  course 
I  never  look  curiously  at  them  any  more,  but 
just  walk  right  on  with  my  eyes  fixed  on 
something  in  the  distance  as  if  they  were 
ordinary  houses.  I  can't  help  wondering, 
sometimes,  whether  anybody  ever  noticed  me 
staring  at  them  and  at  the  fellows  going  in 
and  out  —  before  I  knew.  I  hope  not. 

When  I  asked  Duggie  about  getting  into 
clubs  that  time,  I  remember  he  evaded  the 
subject  (which  was  darned  good  of  him,  it 
seems  to  me  now)  by  saying  something  about 
being  polite  to  everybody., 

"  That 's  all  very  well,"  Berri  answered, 
when  I  laughed  a  little  and  told  him  about  it, 
"  but  there's  such  a  thing  as  being  too  polite. 
You  see,  there  are  fellows  right  now  in  our 
class  —  you  know  who  they  are  and  I  do 
too  —  who  are,  even  as  early  as  this,  being 
considered  for  the  First  Ten.  If  you  sud 
denly  turned  in  and  tried  to  make  yourself 
nice  to  them,  why,  everybody  would  say  you 
were  '  swiping  ;  '  and  so  you  would  be.  The 
First  Ten  elects  the  Second  Ten,  you 
know." 

"  Duggie  did  n't  mean  that  you  ought  to 
be  polite  only  to  the  fellows  you  think  are 
going  to  help  you  along,"  I  answered.  "  It 

264 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

was  exactly  the  reverse  of  that.  What  he 
meant  was  that  you  ought  to  be  the  same  to 
everybody." 

"  I  wonder  if  he  was,"  Berri  mused.  "  It 's 
so  easy,  after  you  've  once  got  to  the  top  your 
self,  to  think  you  did  it  all  with  the  help  of 
the  Scriptures.  It's  like  these  old  vultures 
who  've  stolen  everything  in  sight  ever  since 
they  were  born,  beginning  their  magazine  arti 
cles  on  '  How  to  Get  Rich  '  with  :  «  Honesty 
and  Industry  must  be  the  motto  of  him  who 
would  attain  wealth !  ' 

I  refused  to  see  any  connection  between 
Duggie  and  the  old  vultures,  and  tried  to  get 
back  to  the  clubs.  However,  we  didn't  say 
much  more  about  them,  and  squabbled  most  of 
the  way  home  over  the  subject  of  popularity. 
It  does  seem  queer  that  some  fellows  have  so 
many  friends,  while  others  who  start  with  about 
the  same  opportunities  and  even  greater  natu 
ral  advantages  now  and  then  have  so  few.  I 
suggested  that  when  a  fellow  was  tremen 
dously  popular  and  "in"  everything  —  and  I 
could  n't  see  why  it  was  exactly  —  he  prob 
ably  had  very  interesting  or  fascinating  quali 
ties  that  I  had  n't  perhaps  discovered.  Berri, 
however,  maintained  that  popularity  was  often 
nothing  but  an  idiotic  fashion,  and  mentioned 

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THE   DIARY   OF  A  FRESHMAN 

several    popular   fellows   he    did  n't   like,   to 
prove  it. 

"  Now  look  at  Tucker  Ludlow,"  he  burst 
out.  "  What  is  he  ?  A  dissipated  little 
beast ;  you  know  he  is,  everybody  knows  he  is. 
Not  that  I  should  mind  his  being  dissipated 
and  a  beast,  if  he  were  ever  anything  else  ; 
but  he  isn't.  He's  stupid,  and  he  's  ignorant, 
and  he  is  n't  even  good-looking,  yet  he  moves 
in  a  crowd,  —  a  nice  crowd  too  ;  and  when  he 
moves,  the  crowd  moves  with  him.  That 's 
nothing  but  fashion.  It  is  n't  possible  that 
anybody  can  really  like  the  creature.  But  it 
amounts  to  the  same  thing  ;  I  've  already 
heard  it  kind  of  whispered  around  that  he  '11 
be  on  the  First  Ten." 

What  Berri  said  interested  me  very  much, 
for  Ludlow  and  I  had  agreed,  a  few  days 
before,  to  grind  together  on  a  course  for  the 
mid-year  exams.  I  had  intended  to  remind 
him  of  it,  but  now  that  Berri  said  he  was 
spoken  of  for  the  First  Ten  I  don't  like  to  ; 
people  might  think  I  was  swiping.  I  don't 
care  much  for  Ludlow  myself;  but  he  doesn't 
irritate  me  the  way  he  does  Berri,  and  I  do 
think  there  must  be  something  to  him. 

After  the  freaks  of  fashion,  Berri  seemed  to 
think  that  the  most  popular  men  —  in  one's 

266 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

Freshman  year  anyhow  —  were  the  fellows 
whose  opportunities  for  making  friends  were 
good  to  begin  with,  and  who  were  n't  in  any 
way  particularly  startling,  —  athletics,  of 
course,  always  excepted  ;  athletes  never  lack 
a  following.  But  it  does  n't  do,  he  says,  to 
be  different,  or  to  excel  at  first  in  much  of 
anything  else.  You  may  with  perfect  safety 
have  the  reputation  for  knowing  things  or  being 
clever,  but  that 's  very  different  from  really 
knowing  or  being.  The  man  who  actually 
knows  or  is,  is  doomed. 

"What  about  Reggie  Howard,  then?"  I 
asked.  Everybody  likes  Howard,  and  yet  he 
knows  a  fearful  amount  and  is  as  clever  as 
any  one  could  be.  I  knew  Berri  thought  so, 
and  wondered  how  he  would  get  out  of  it. 

"  Yes,  Reggie  's  wise,  —  very  wise,"  he 
admitted,  "  but  with  the  exception  of  you  and 
me,  almost  no  one  suspects  it.  He  doesn't 
object  to  my  knowing,  because  he  feels  sure  I 
don't  mind  ;  and  you  're  safe  because  you  're 
so  kind.  But  he  takes  care  that  people  gen 
erally  don't  get  on  to  it.  That 's  part  of  his 
wisdom." 

One  thing  I  've  learned  here  that  surprised 
me  a  good  deal,  and  that  is  —  popularity  has 
nothing  to  do  with  money.  I  always  had  an 

267 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

idea  that  people  with  money  to  throw  to  the 
birds  could  n't  help  being  liked  ;  but  that  evi 
dently  is  n't  the  case.  And  Berri  did  n't  have 
to  tell  me ;  I  found  it  out  for  myself.  Of 
course  it 's  nice  to  be  able  to  live  in  comfort 
able  rooms  and  have  plenty  to  eat  and  wear 
decent  clothes.  No  one  objects  to  that,  and 
no  one  objects,  apparently,  to  a  fellow's  doing 
more  than  that,  —  to  spending,  indeed,  a  good 
deal  of  money  if  he  has  it  to  spend.  But  the 
mere  fact  of  a  man's  having  a  record-breaking 
allowance  does  n't  seem  to  interest  people  in 
the  least,  and  if  some  frightfully  rich  fellow 
comes  to  college  with  a  flourish  of  trumpets 
in  the  Sunday  papers  about  his  father's  in 
come,  and  how  many  horses  he  intends  to 
keep,  and  how  much  the  furnishing  of  his 
rooms  will  probably  cost,  it  's  decidedly 
against  him.  I  was  thinking,  I  suppose,  of 
Tony  Earle  in  our  class.  His  father  makes 
millions  and  millions  out  of  safety-matches  — 
I  believe  it  is.  Anyhow,  everybody  speaks 
of  Tony  as  "  His  Matchesty,"  and  has  very 
little  to  do  with  him.  The  fellows  are  simply 
prejudiced  against  him  because  the  papers 
said  he  had  so  much  money.  And  he's  really 
a  perfectly  harmless,  rather  quiet  sort  of  per 
son  who  plays  well  on  the  piano.  Berri  and  I 

268 


THE    DIARY   OF  A   FRESHMAN 

spent  an  evening  with  him  once.  We  were 
dining  in  town,  and  Earle  was  all  alone  across 
the  room.  He  looked  so  dreary  that  Berri 
finally  exclaimed, — 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  why  doesn't  some  one 
take  pity  on  that  poor  wretched  millionaire? 
It's  positively  pathetic!" 

I  suggested  asking  him  to  come  over  and 
have  his  dinner  with  us.  But  Berri,  like 
every  one  else,  objected. 

"  He  'd  probably  order  nightingales  or  pea 
cocks  or  some  such  thing,  and  then  insist  on 
paying  for  us,"  he  said. 

"Well,  let's  ask  him  and  see,"  I  urged. 
"We'll  make  that  the  test.  If  he  tries  to 
pay  the  whole  bill,  he  won't  do."  So  Berri 
went  over  and  asked  him  to  join  us,  and  he 
turned  out  just  as  I  said,  —  quiet  and  not 
especially  interesting,  but  a  good  deal  nicer 
than  a  lot  of  fellows  who  won't  know  him. 
When  it  came  to  paying  the  waiter,  Berri 
kicked  me  under  the  table  and  spent  an  in 
decently  long  time  in  looking  over  the  check. 
I  think  he  was  actually  disappointed  when 
Earle  glanced  across  the  table  and  merely 
said,  — 

"  By  the  way,  what 's  my  share?  " 

When  we  got  to  Cambridge  he  asked  us 
269 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

over  to  his  rooms.  They  certainly  are  dreams  ; 
even  Berri  could  n't  find  anything  wrong  with 
them.  He  bangs  the  hox  like  a  wizard. 

"  I  was  afraid  he  was  going  to  say  he  was 
lonely,  or  something  melodramatic  like  that, 
when  we  got  up  to  leave  and  he  asked  us  to 
come  again,"  Berri  remarked  on  the  way 
home.  "  Of  course  he  is  horribly  lonely,  and 
it  was  very  considerate  of  him  not  to  spoil 
everything  by  saying  so.  I  think  we  '11  have 
to  go  back.  To-morrow  at  luncheon  we  can 
start  a  society  for  the  prevention  of  cruelty  to 
millionaires." 

Well,  if  I  'm  ever  ostracized  it  won't  be 
because  people  are  scared  at  my  allowance. 
Papa  and  I  have  been  having  an  exceedingly 
brisk  correspondence  lately.  Just  after  the 
family  got  back  to  Perugia,  Mildred  wrote 
me  that  papa  had  won  an  important  lawsuit 
and  was  going  to  get  an  unusually  large  fee. 
So  I  bought  some  clothes  and  a  few  things 
I  really  needed  on  the  strength  of  it  and  had 
the  bill  sent  home,  as  he  made  me  promise  to 
let  him  know  just  what  I  spent.  He  replied 
at  some  length,  declaring,  among  other  things, 
that  I  reminded  him  of  what  Charles  Lamb 
says  of  a  poor  relation  ;  Lamb's  remark  being, 
"  A  poor  relation  is  a  preposterous  shadow 

270 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

lengthening  in  the  noontide  of  your  pros 
perity."  I  expostulated,  and  told  him  about 
Willie  Jackson.  Willie's  elder  brother  passed 
through  Boston  not  long  ago,  and  when  Willie 
went  in  to  see  him  he  asked  for  money  with 
which  to  buy  a  dress-suit  case  and  some  shoes 
he  needed  badly.  No  one  knows  exactly  how 
it  happened,  —  some  think  that  Willie  had 
been  brooding  over  the  Fine  Arts  course  he 
is  taking  and  the  instructor's  plea  for  more 
beauty  in  one's  every-day  environment.  Any 
how,  when  Willie  stepped  off  the  car  in 
Cambridge,  he  had  —  not  the  shoes  and  the 
dress-suit  case,  but  a  palm  and  a  canary-bird. 

To  this  papa  replied  that  he  did  n't  see  why 
I  had  taken  the  trouble  to  record  for  his  bene 
fit  the  exploits  of  Willie  Jackson,  as  he  never 
for  a  moment  had  doubted  that  there  were  as 
many  fools  in  college  as  elsewhere.  That  is 
where  the  matter  rests  at  present. 

As  there  is  nothing  doing  now  that  you  can 
watch  in  the  afternoon  as  you  can  the  football 
practice  in  the  autumn  and  the  baseball  and 
crews  in  the  spring,  some  of  us  at  the  table 
have  become  athletes  on  our  own  account. 
We  go  to  the  gym  every  day  at  about  five, 
and  work  with  chest-weights  and  dumbbells, 
and  are  put  through  all  sorts  of  agonizing  per- 

271 


THE    DIARY   OF   A  FRESHMAN 

formances  in  a  large  class  of  hard  students 
who  never  take  any  other  kind  of  exercise. 
Then  we  run  up  North  Avenue  as  far  as  the 
railway-station  and  back  to  our  rooms.  I 
don't  know  how  far  it  is,  but  the  return  trip 
at  first  seemed  to  be  about  a  hundred  miles  ; 
it 's  a  little  shorter  now,  and  gets  shorter  every 
day.  After  a  hot  shower-bath  and  then  a  cold 
one  you  feel  eight  or  ten  feet  high,  and  walk 
through  the  Square  to  dinner,  sticking  out 
your  chest.  It 's  queer  you  don't  catch  cold, 
running  in  the  icy  wind  with  literally  nothing 
on  but  a  pair  of  tennis  shoes,  loose  short  cotton 
drawers,  and  a  thin  sleeveless  undershirt ;  but 
you  never  seem  to.  The  gym  made  me  stiff 
all  over  for  a  day  or  two,  but  I  feel  fine  now, 
and  wonder  why  we  never  thought  of  it  before. 
The  muckers  on  the  Avenue  bother  us  a  good 
deal  with  snowballs  when  we  run.  Hemington 
very  foolishly  chased  one  of  them  not  long  ago 
and  washed  his  face  with  snow.  The  paternal 
mucker  has  since  sued  Hemi  for  assault  and 
battery.  Hemi  is  in  a  great  state  about  it, 
and  we  are  all  looking  forward  to  cutting  a 
morningful  of  lectures  and  testifying  in  court. 
The  mid-years  are  almost  here,  and  I  feel 
as  if  it  were  only  about  the  day  before  yester 
day  that  I  was  failing  in  the  hour  exams.  I 

272 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

simply  must  do  well  in  the  mid-years,  for  if  I 
don't  they  will  probably  change  my  probation 
to  "  special  probation  "  (as  it  is  called),  which 
is  the  limit,  my  adviser  says,  of  everything 
obnoxious.  I  should  have  to  report — to  him 
most  likely  —  every  morning  at  half-past  eight, 
just  to  show  that  I  was  up  bright  and  early 
and  "  in  sympathy  with  the  work,"  so  to 
speak.  Then  at  ten  or  eleven  in  the  evening 
I  should  have  to  drop  in  again,  which  of  course 
would  make  it  impossible  to  go  to  the  theatre 
without  permission.  An  extra-sharp  lookout 
would  be  kept  on  my  work,  and  altogether 
special  probation  is  easily  a  consummation 
devoutly  to  be  avoided.  I  suppose  I  '11  have 
to  grind  and  grind  night  and  day  in  order  to 
get  everything  down  cold.  I  wish  now  that  I 
had  kept  on  studying  an  hour  or  two  every  day, 
as  I  did  for  about  a  week  after  my  encounter 
with  the  exams  in  October.  I  should  n't  be 
well  prepared  even  then,  but  it  would  n't  all 
seem  so  perfectly  hopeless  as  it  does  now. 
It 's  so  hard,  though,  to  do  anything  regularly 
when  the  front  door  is  unlocked  most  of  the 
time,  as  ours  is.  And  there  's  no  use  in  lock 
ing  the  door  of  my  room,  as  the  fellows  don't 
knock  once  and  go  away,  but  pound  and  rattle 
and  shout  insulting  remarks  through  the  key- 
ig  273 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

hole.  All  of  which  makes  me  feel  disagree 
able  and  rather  affected,  —  locking  myself  up 
when  other  people  get  along  so  well  without 
that  sort  of  thing.  I  have  n't  done  it  more  than 
once  or  twice. 

Anyhow  I  '11  probably  get  a  good  mark  in 
my  English  Composition.  The  instructor 
seems  to  like  my  themes  and  reads  a  good 
many  of  them  in  class.  Lately,  however,  he 
has  developed  the  unnecessary  trick  of  pro 
nouncing  the  words,  when  he  is  reading,  ex 
actly  as  they  are  spelled,  which  is  extremely 
trying  for  me  and  not  fair  to  the  theme.  It 
has  made  several  really  good  ones  sound  ridic 
ulous.  Spelling  is  n't  my  strong  point,  I 
know  ;  but  I  draw  the  line  at  Berri's  guying 
me  about  it,  —  Berri,  whose  spelling,  unless 
he  digs  every  other  word  out  of  the  dictionary, 
looks  like  some  kind  of  absurd  French  dialect. 
He  has  recently  taken  to  getting  off  a  rig 
marole  (it 's  supposed  to  be  about  me)  that 
begins  something  like  this,  — 

"  '  Berri,  how  do  you  spell  "  parallel  "  ? ' 
"  'Why,  p-a-r-a-1-l-e-l,  of  course.' 
"  '  Thank  you  ;  that 's  the  way  I  have  it.' 
(Then  nothing  was  heard  but  the  scratching 
of  a  penknife.) " 

I  think  they  're  rather  fussy  about  details 
274 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

here.  On  the  back  of  my  last  theme  the  in 
structor  wrote  :  "  By  the  way,  dotting  one's 
i's  and  crossing  one's  t's  are  charming  liter 
ary  habits  when  once  acquired." 

However,  I  think  I  shall  get  a  good  mark 
in  this  course,  notwithstanding.  But  life  isn't 
all  English  Composition,  and  I  have  a  terrible 
amount  of  work  to  do  in  the  other  things. 
Berri  and  I  began,  in  a  way,  to  prepare  for  the 
ordeal  by  going  to  the  theatre  for  the  last  time 
until  the  mid-year  period  is  at  an  end.  We 
made  an  occasion  of  it,  and  ended  by  doing 
something  that  I  had  never  dreamed  we  were 
going  to  do  when  we  started  out.  It  was 
foolish,  I  suppose,  and  I  don't  know  exactly 
what  mamma  would  think  about  it.  I  should 
like  to  tell  her  and  find  out,  but  I  'm  afraid 
papa  might  get  hold  of  it,  and  my  idea  of  his 
opinion  on  the  subject  is  somewhat  less  vague. 
What  we  did  was  to  invite  one  of  the  girls  in 
the  show  to  supper. 

Berri  proposed  it.  We  were  sitting  in  the 
front  row  away  to  one  side,  and  when  the 
second  act  was  about  half  over,  he  exclaimed 
to  me,  — 

"  There,  she  's  done  it  again ;  that 's  the 
third  time."  I  asked  him  what  he  meant, 
and  he  replied  that  one  of  the  girls  on  our 

275 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

side  of  the  stage  had  winked  at  us.  The 
attention,  he  explained,  must  have  been  meant 
for  us.  And  for  a  variety  of  reasons  it  did  n't 
seem  as  if  it  could  have  been  intended  for  any 
one  else.  In  the  first  place  our  seats  were  the 
last  in  the  row.  Behind  us  were  some  ladies, 
and  on  the  other  side  of  Berri  was  a  very  old 
man  who  sat  half  turned  away  from  the  stage, 
holding  a  great  black  tin  trumpet  to  his  ear, 
as  if  he  were  expecting  the  actors  to  lean  over 
the  footlights  and  pour  something  into  it. 

"I  don't  want  to  appear  vain,"  Berri  went 
on,  "  but  as  a  mere  matter  of  geographical  po 
sition  I  think  that  we  're  It."  The  comedian 
was  singing  a  song  in  the  middle  of  the  stage, 
and  on  either  side  of  him  was  a  row  of  girls 
—  convent  girls  they  were  supposed  to  be  — 
who  joined  in  the  chorus  at  the  end  of  every 
verse  and  shook  their  fingers  at  him  reprov 
ingly.  They  were  all  dressed  in  tights.  This 
was  n't  the  convent  uniform  (they  had  ap 
peared  in  that  during  the  first  act),  and  was 
explained  by  the  fact  that  they  had  been  re 
hearsing  for  private  theatricals  when  the 
comedian  fell  in  through  the  window.  The 
comedian  was  a  burglar,  and  his  tights  were 
merely  a  clever  disguise.  He  was  making 
the  girls  believe  that  he  was  a  professional 

276 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

actor  hired  by  the  mother  superior  to  teach 
them  how  to  sing  and  dance.  This  was  the 
plot,  and  it  was  really  rather  complicated, 
for  when  they  all  decided  to  leave  the  convent 
with  the  burglar  and  spend  the  evening  at  a 
roof-garden,  they  rushed  in  dressed  as  police 
men,  pretending  that  they  had  come  to  arrest 
the  burglar.  The  mother  superior  did  n't 
recognize  them,  of  course,  and  was  naturally 
glad  to  have  the  burglar  taken  away.  Then, 
at  the  roof-garden — in  the  third  act  —  they 
appeared  as  waiters ;  all  of  which  made  it 
hard  for  me  to  keep  track  of  them  very  well. 
But  Berri  could  spot  our  girl  every  time,  and 
by  carefully  examining  the  program  and  com 
paring  the  names  of  the  chorus  with  the  vari 
ous  changes  of  costume  she  went  through, 
he  managed  in  some  way,  by  the  end  of  the 
second  act,  to  discover  her  name.  It  was 
Miss  Mae  Ysobelle.  To  tell  the  truth,  I 
did  n't  think  her  particularly  pretty.  She 
was  tall  and  not  a  bit  graceful,  and  when  she 
danced  she  looked  as  if  it  were  hard  work  to 
move  her  arms  and  legs  the  right  number  of 
times  and  finish  with  the  others.  She  smiled 
a  great  deal,  but  the  moment  she  stopped 
dancing  her  mouth  sort  of  snapped  back  to 
place  as  if  it  were  made  of  stiff  red  rubber. 

277 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

I  found,  after  watching  her  for  a  long  time, 
that  my  own  mouth  got  very  tired.  I  told 
Berri  this ;  also  that  her  clothes  looked  as 
if  they  had  been  made  for  some  one  else.  But 
Berri  somehow  seemed  to  think  she  might  be 
unusually  agreeable  if  one  knew  her. 

"  Very  often,  you  know,  really  pretty  peo 
ple  don't  make  up  well  at  all ;  and  as  for  her 
clothes  looking  as  if  they  did  n't  belong  to  her, 
why,  she  can't  help  that,  poor  thing !  they 
probably  don't.  She  is  a  little  knock-kneed, 
but  you  would  n't  notice  that  if  she  had  a  skirt 
on." 

"  Well,  there  does  n't  seem  to  be  any  im 
mediate  danger  of  our  seeing  her  with  a  skirt," 
I  answered,  for  some  of  the  convent  girls  — 
Mae  Ysobelle  among  them  —  had  suddenly 
changed  their  minds  about  being  waiters  and 
had  decided  to  give  the  interrupted  private 
theatricals  right  there  on  the  roof-garden 
stage.  They  came  prancing  in  dressed  as 
jockeys,  while  the  man  in  the  orchestra  who, 
as  Berri  says,  supplies  music  with  local  color, 
slapped  two  thin  boards  together  to  imitate 
the  crack  of  a  whip. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Berri  mused  ;  "  we 
might  manage  to  meet  her  after  the  show,  — 
ask  her  to  supper  or  something.  She  seems 

278 


friendly  enough,"  he  added  ;  for,  as  he  was 
speaking,  the  jockeys  drew  up  at  the  edge  of 
the  stage,  touched  their  caps,  then  leaned  over, 
and  all  winked.  Miss  Ysobelle  was  unmis 
takably  looking  at  us  as  she  did  it. 

I  did  n't  believe  she  would  go  with  us  even 
if  we  asked  her,  but  Berri  said  we  'd  rush  out 
after  the  third  act  and  buy  her  some  flowers 
and  send  an  usher  behind  the  scenes  with  them. 
We  ended  by  doing  this  —  we  got  her  a  big 
box  of  roses  —  and  writing  a  note  asking  her 
to  meet  us  at  the  stage  door  when  the  perform 
ance  was  ended.  Berri  signed  it  "  Front  row 
—  extreme  left." 

We  did  n't  get  an  answer  to  it,  at  least  not 
in  words  ;  but  when  the  curtain  went  up 
again  on  a  scene  in  the  convent  garden,  Miss 
Ysobelle  had  one  of  our  roses  in  her  hair  and 
another  at  her  belt,  and  I  began  to  feel  excited 
at  the  prospect  of  meeting  her.  In  fact,  the 
whole  last  act  had  a  personal  interest  for  us 
that  the  others  had  not.  It  was  almost  like 
being  on  the  stage  and  enjoying  everything 
from  the  inside.  I  even  felt  rather  sorry  for 
the  rest  of  the  audience  who  were  sitting  there 
perfectly  oblivious  to  the  intrigue  going  on  in 
the  blaze  of  the  footlights,  before  their  unsus 
pecting  eyes.  One  thing  struck  us  both  as 

279 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

rather  odd  at  first.  Miss  Ysobelle,  except 
for  the  roses,  scrupulously  ignored  us  through 
the  entire  act.  She  not  only  never  winked  at 
us,  she  never  even  looked  at  us.  In  fact,  she 
gave  us  both  the  impression  that  she  had  be 
come  absorbed  in  something  at  the  other  side 
of  the  house.  I  could  n't  understand  this,  and 
neither  could  Berri,  although  he  said  there 
was  probably  some  theatrical  etiquette  con 
nected  with  her  averted  gaze,  or  perhaps  the 
stage-manager  had  told  her  to  be  more  dig 
nified.  We  decided  to  ask  her  about  it  at 
supper.  Well,  we  never  got  a  chance  to 
ask  her,  but  we  found  out  soon  enough  for 
ourselves. 

As  we  had  the  last  seats  on  the  left  side  of 
the  front  row,  we  were  naturally  the  last  to  get 
into  the  middle  aisle  on  the  way  out,  or,  rather, 
we  and  the  people  who  had  the  corresponding 
seats  on  the  other  side  of  the  house  were  the 
last.  We  met  them  when  we  reached  the  end 
of  our  row,  and  had  to  stop  a  moment  as  they 
stood  there  putting  on  their  overcoats  and 
blocking  the  way.  One  of  them  I  noticed 
particularly,  —  a  great,  big  thug  of  a  creature 
who  had  shiny  black  hair  slicked  up  in  front 
with  a  barbery  flourish,  and  a  very  fancy  waist 
coat  and  cravat.  They  kept  just  ahead  of  us 

280 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

on  the  way  out,  and  laughed  a  good  deal. 
Berri  and  I  were  unusually  silent. 

We  did  n't  go  quite  to  the  stage  door,  as 
the  electric  light  fizzing  right  over  it  made 
everything  in  the  little  alley  as  bright  as  day. 
Neither  of  us  was  very  keen  to  join  the  group 
loitering  near  by,  so  we  stood  a  little  back  in 
the  shadow  and  waited.  Finally  some  men 
with  their  collars  turned  up  came  out ;  then 
two  women  with  thick  veils  on.  They  seemed 
to  be  in  a  great  hurry,  and  for  a  few  seconds 
we  were  afraid  that  one  of  them  might  be 
Miss  Ysobelle  ;  but  we  remembered  how  tall 
she  was  and  didn't  run  after  them.  Then 
more  men  came,  and  more  girls,  —  some  of 
whom  were  joined  by  men  waiting  at  the  door. 
It  seemed  at  last  as  if  the  whole  company 
must  have  come  out,  and  Berri  and  I  were 
beginning  to  think  that  Miss  Mae  Ysobelle 
must  have  left  before  we  arrived,  when  the 
door  opened  once  more  and  she  appeared  with 
our  box  of  flowers  in  her  arms.  For  a  mo 
ment  she  stood  on  the  step  and  looked  around 
expectantly. 

"  I  think  we  ought  to  go  up,"  Berri  mur 
mured  nervously  ;  but  I  thought  it  would  be 
better  to  wait  and  join  her  as  she  passed  by. 

Then  a  queer  thing  happened.  Just  as  she 
281 


decided  to  leave  the  step,  who  should  go  up 
to  her  but  the  big  thug  with  the  shiny  hair 
and  loud  waistcoat  ?  He  lifted  his  hat  and 
shook  hands  with  her  very  cordially,  then  took 
the  box  of  flowers  —  our  flowers  —  and  strolled 
away  with  her  out  of  the  alley  to  the  street. 
As  they  passed  by,  we  heard  her  exclaim, 
"  Say,  it  was  awful  nice  of  you  to  send  those 
Jacques.  When  Myrtle  seen  me  open  the 
box  -  The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost  in 
the  rattle  of  a  cab. 

Berri  and  I  waited  a  moment  before  com 
ing  out  of  the  shadow.  Then  we  looked  at 
each  other,  and  Berri  shrieked  with  laughter. 
We  laughed  all  the  way  back  to  Cambridge. 
The  people  in  the  car  must  have  thought  —  I 
don't  know  what  they  could  have  thought. 
For  a  long  time  we  could  n't  imagine  why 
things  had  turned  out  as  they  had  until  Berri 
remembered  that  he  had  signed  the  note 
"  Front  row  —  extreme  left."  He  had  meant 
our  left,  but  Miss  Ysobelle  no  doubt  thought 
that  it  referred  to  her  left,  —  which  was  quite 
another  matter. 


282 


THE    DIARY   OF  A  FRESHMAN 


XV 

I'VE  been  dead  to  the  world  for  more 
than  a  month  ;  it  seems  about  a  year. 
Yet  when  I  came  to  look  at  the  situa 
tion  squarely,  there  wasn't  anything 
else  to  do  exactly.  It  was  a  case  of  getting 
the  drop  on  my  exams  or  letting  them  get  the 
drop  on  me.  Of  course,  I  could  have  sort  of 
fooled  with  them  and  thought  I  was  learning 
something  about  them  and  then  perhaps  have 
scraped  through  in  one  or  two  and  failed  in 
the  others.  And  this,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  was 
the  way  in  which  Tucker  Ludlow  and  I  did 
go  at  them  at  first.  Tucker  came  up  to  my 
room  two  or  three  times,  armed  with  some 
type-written  notes  on  Greek  architecture  that 
he  had  bought  at  one  of  the  book  stores  in 
the  Square.  The  first  time  he  came  was 
rather  late  in  the  afternoon.  He  examined 
everything  in  my  room,  and  we  talked  a  good 
deal ;  he  had  been  out  West  once,  and  seemed 
to  know  much  more  about  that  part  of  the 
country  than  I  did.  However,  we  finally  got 
to  work  and  had  read  about  two  pages  of  the 
notes  when  Hemington  came  in.  He  saw 
that  we  were  grinding,  and  said  he  would  n't 

283 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

sit  down  and  interrupt  us,  especially  as  he 
ought  to  be  in  his  own  room,  grinding  him 
self.  He  did  n't  actually  sit  down,  but  leaned 
against  the  mantelpiece  and  smoked  for  a 
while,  and  then  compromised  by  half  sitting 
on  the  arm  of  a  chair  in  a  temporary  way  and 
swinging  his  leg.  When  at  last  he  got  up  to 
leave,  it  was  so  near  dinner  that  Ludlow  went 
with  him,  and  said  he  would  continue  some 
other  time.  He  left  the  notes  with  me,  and 
at  first  I  thought  I  should  study  them  alone, 
but  as  Ludlow  and  I  had  agreed  to  grind  the 
course  up  together,  there  did  n't  seem  to  be 
any  point  in  getting  ahead  of  him ;  so  in  a 
few  minutes  I  went  to  dinner  myself. 

The  next  time  Ludlow  came  to  study  was 
in  the  evening.  He  proposed  that  I  should 
read  the  notes  aloud,  as  he  found  the  archi 
tectural  terms  so  hard  to  pronounce  ;  we  were 
to  stop  and  talk  over  anything  we  did  n't  un 
derstand.  I  made  myself  comfortable  in  a 
chair  near  the  lamp,  and  Ludlow  drew  up  to 
the  fire.  After  droning  along  for  about  ten 
minutes  about  triglyphs  and  epistyles  and  en 
tablatures  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  I  sud 
denly  had  a  jealous  feeling  that  he  was  getting 
more  good  from  the  performance  than  I  was, 
for  he  had  n't  asked  a  question,  while  I  had  n't 

284 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

understood  a  single  sentence.  Finally,  with 
out  looking  up,  I  said,  — 

<c  Tucker,  if  you  really  know  what  *  pseudo- 
peripteral  '  means,  I  wish  you  would  tell  me." 
Tucker  did  n't  answer,  and  I  thought  he  was 
probably  trying  to  get  at  a  definition  simple 
enough  for  me  to  grasp.  But  when  I  glanced 
over  toward  the  fireplace,  I  saw  that  he  was 
asleep  with  his  mouth  open.  Well,  I  felt 
rather  angry  at  first, —  it  all  seemed  such  a 
waste  of  time  ;  but  it  struck  me,  too,  as  being 
funny,  so  I  did  n't  wake  him.  He  must  have 
slept  for  at  least  ten  minutes  longer  (of  course 
I  did  n't  bother  about  reading  aloud  any 
more),  and  then  he  came  to,  exclaiming,  — 

"  Read  that  about  the  ground  plan  once 
more ;  I  don't  think  I  quite  got  that."  As 
the  ground  plan  was  almost  the  first  topic 
mentioned,  I  suppose  he  had  dozed  off  almost 
immediately.  After  that  I  made  him  do  the 
reading,  but  he  had  n't  stumbled  through  many 
pages  before  he  put  down  the  notes  and 
said,  — 

"  Granny,  don't  you  think  that  if  we  tackled 
this  beastly  drivel  in  the  daytime,  our  heads 
would  be  clearer?  " 

That  was  the  end  of  our  grinding  together. 
He  came  to  my  room  once  more,  but  I  was 

285 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

out.  It  was  after  this  experience  that  I 
thought  the  matter  over  and  decided  I  should 
have  to  do  the  thing  differently,  and  for  the 
most  part  alone,  My  most  brilliant  stroke 
was  getting  the  key  of  Duggie's  room  from 
Mrs.  Chester  ;  I  could  lock  myself  up  there 
and  be  perfectly  safe.  When  fellows  saw  my 
own  door  wide  open  and  no  one  at  home,  they 
went  away  at  once  without  making  a  row. 
Of  course  I  had  to  let  Berri  into  the  game  ; 
but  as  he  began  to  be  scared  about  some  of 
his  own  exams,  he  was  grateful  for  the  refuge 
and  did  n't  give  it  away. 

I  went  to  work  at  the  whole  business  scien 
tifically,  determined  not  to  leave  a  single  thing, 
however  unimportant,  to  chance.  And  I  'm 
convinced  now  that  if  I  have  the  nerve  always 
to  do  this,  I  can  get  through  any  examination 
I  'm  ever  likely  to  have,  — not  brilliantly,  per 
haps,  but  very  respectably.  First  of  all,  I 
spent  a  day  in  the  library  and  got  hold  of  a 
lot  of  books  that  gave  my  various  courses  in 
their  simplest,  clearest  form.  For  the  Fine 
Arts  course  I  found  that  a  copy  of  the  notes 
that  Ludlow  had  was  better  than  anything. 
They  stated  facts  in  a  condensed  way  that 
made  it  possible  to  keep  in  your  head  a  bird's- 
eye  view  of  the  entire  course,  as  far  as  we  had 

286 


gone.  Then  I  made  a  list  of  the  number  of 
pages  of  general  reading  we  had  to  accomplish 
in  every  course,  and  split  them  up  so  as  to  be 
able  to  get  through  them  all  —  taking  notes  as 
I  read  —  by  reading  a  certain  number  of  pages 
a  day.  I  left  a  margin  at  the  end  for  review 
and  in  case  of  accidents.  And  finally,  after  I 
had  made  these  preparations  and  collected  as 
many  of  the  necessary  books  as  I  could  (I  had 
to  do  some  of  my  reading  in  the  library),  I 
locked  Duggie's  door  one  morning  after  break 
fast,  and  sat  down  at  his  desk,  and  stayed  there 
until  luncheon  ;  and  after  luncheon  I  went 
back  and  stayed  until  it  was  time  to  go  to  the 
gym  and  take  a  run  ;  and  after  dinner  I  went 
back  and  stayed  until  bedtime.  And  I  did 
this  every  day  with  very  few  interruptions  until 
I  could  pick  up  any  of  the  text-books,  turn 
to  the  alphabetical  index,  and  plough  right 
through  it,  describing  in  detail  every  darned 
thing  it  mentioned  ;  and  an  alphabetical  index 
mentions  a  good  deal.  If  I  slipped  up  on  any 
thing,  I  would  mark  it  with  a  pencil,  go  back 
and  learn  it.  Oh,  it  was  perfectly  awful !  I 
got  so  tired  and  discouraged  and  maudlin  at 
times  that  I  would  have  to  lean  back  and  close 
my  eyes  and  let  my  bursting  mind  become  a 
throbbing  blank  for  a  few  minutes,  in  order  to 

287 


keep  from  screaming.  But  after  the  gym  and 
the  run  and  the  shower-bath,  I  felt  all  right 
again,  —  just  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

Two  courses  —  the  physics  and  philosophy 
—  I  had  to  tutor  in  for  a  while.  There  was 
no  use  pegging  away  at  them  by  myself,  for  I 
simply  did  n't  understand  some  of  the  experi 
ments,  and  logic  I  could  n't  make  head  or  tail 
of.  A  Senior  who  lived  in  College  House 
explained  them  to  me  in  simple  golden  words 
(three  dollars  an  hour  were  his  terms),  and 
when  I  once  saw  through  it  all  and  had  it 
down  on  paper  in  my  own  language,  I  could 
let  it  soak  in  at  home.  The  other  things  — 
the  ones  I  did  understand,  like  History  and 
Fine  Arts  —  were  merely  a  matter  of  incessant 
repetition  and  memory. 

The  night  before  the  Fine  Arts  exam  I  went 
to  what  is  called  a  "  Seminar  "  in  that  sub 
ject.  I  could  have  got  along  very  well  with 
out  it  after  my  days  and  days  of  slavery,  but 
about  every  one  I  knew  was  going,  and  I 
wanted  to  see  what  it  was  like.  There  are 
several  men  here  who  make  a  business  of  boil 
ing  popular  courses  down  to  their  most  pain 
lessly  swallowable  dimensions,  and  then  giving 
the  thing  the  evening  before  the  examination 
in  a  kind  of  lecture,  for  which  they  charge  an 

288 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

admittance  fee  of  three  or  four  dollars.  This 
performance  is  a  seminar,  —  a  kind  of  royal 
road,  if  not  to  learning  at  least  to  passing 
examinations.  They  say  that  fellows  who 
never  look  at  a  book  or  take  a  note  in  class 
often  go  to  a  seminar  and,  providing  they  have 
good  memories,  are  able  to  answer  enough 
questions  on  the  exam  paper  the  next  morning 
to  get  through  with  colors  flying.  A  certain 
number  of  questions  on  almost  every  paper 
simply  have  to  deal  with  cold,  isolated  facts 
rather  than  with  the  generalities,  comparisons, 
and  discussions  that  necessitate  a  real  knowl 
edge  of  the  subject,  and  it  is  with  these  facts 
—  pounded  in  at  a  seminar  —  that  one  puts  up 
a  successful  bluff.  The  authorities  naturally 
object  to  all  this.  As  Berri  remarked  about 
the  seminar  we  went  to,  — 

"  After  a  professor  has  earnestly  expounded 
a  subject  for  half  a  year,  it  must  make  him 
rather  sore  to  have  a  cheeky  parrot  get  up  and 
do  the  whole  thing  much  better  in  four  hours." 

The  Fine  Arts  seminar  was  held  in  a  huge 
room,  almost  a  hall,  in  a  kind  of  office  build 
ing  near  the  Square.  It  was  advertised  to 
begin  at  half-past  seven,  and  pretty  much 
every  one  was  there  on  time,  —  all  the  sports 
of  the  Freshman  and  Sophomore  classes,  some 
19  289 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

Juniors,  and  even  a  few  Seniors.  It  was 
what  the  society  reporter  refers  to  as  "a  large 
and  fashionable  gathering."  It  certainly  was 
a  mighty  nice-looking  crowd  of  fellows;  clean, 
well  dressed,  and  (to  quote  Berri)  "  much 
more  intelligent  in  appearance  than  we  actu 
ally  are,  or  we  should  n't  be  here  at  all."  As 
every  man  came  in,  he  was  given  a  large  sheet 
of  stiff  paper  on  which  was  printed  a  synopsis 
of  the  course,  with  all  the  subjects  that  had 
been  touched  on  methodically  arranged,  and 
a  list  of  definitions,  simple  and  easily  remem 
bered,  but  adequate.  It  was  Greek  art  in  a 
nutshell,  —  a  perfect  marvel  of  clearness  and 
condensation.  The  little  folding  chairs  had 
been  neatly  arranged  in  a  semicircle  at  first, 
but  by  the  time  the  fellows  had  taken  posses 
sion  of  them,  they  looked  as  if  they  had  been 
thrown  in  at  random.  A  good  many  men  who 
were  evidently  old  hands  at  the  business  ar 
ranged  themselves  comfortably  in  two  chairs, 
leaning  back  in  one  with  their  legs  stretched 
across  another,  as  if  prepared  to  spend  the 
night.  A  lot  of  them  took  off  their  coats  and 
waistcoats  —  the  crowd  and  the  gas  made  the 
already  overheated  room  unbearably  warm  — 
and  I  've  never  seen  so  many  pretty  shirts  in 
my  life  as  I  did  that  evening. 

290 


After  every  one  was  settled,  the  man  who 
was  giving  the  seminar  took  a  chair  on  a  little 
platform  in  front  of  us,  and  began  —  not  to 
talk  exactly,  but  to  drone.  He  had  a  harsh 
monotonous  voice  —  une  voix  trainante,  Berri 
called  it  —  and  spoke  with  painful  slowness,  as 
if  trying  not  to  emphasize  any  one  topic  to  the 
exclusion  of  the  others,  —  which  had  the  effect 
of  making  his  entire  discourse,  from  beginning 
to  end,  horribly  important.  Except  for  this 
crawling  sound,  the  room  was  absolutely 
silent  ;  for  once  nobody  seemed  conscious  of 
himself  or  of  any  one  else.  Even  when  the 
man  on  the  platform  pronounced  Greek  words 
in  a  novel  fashion  that  was  all  his  own,  there 
was  n't  a  smile.  I  don't  think  we  realized 
the  intense  strain  of  attention  we  were  under 
going  until,  at  the  end  of  an  hour  and  three 
quarters,  Tucker  Ludlow,  who  had  gone  to 
sleep,  fell  off  his  chair.  The  second  or  two 
of  relaxation  that  followed  the  crash  was  ex 
quisite.  We  stretched  our  arms  and  swabbed 
our  foreheads  with  our  handkerchiefs,  and 
then  sank  back  again  for  another  hour  and 
fifteen  minutes,  until  the  bell  in  the  tower 
of  Memorial  boomed  out  ten  o'clock.  This 
seemed  to  be  the  signal  for  a  short  vaca 
tion  ;  for  the  fact- machine  on  the  platform 

29 1 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

finished  the  sentence  he  had  begun  and  then 
stood  up. 

There  was  a  general  shuffling  of  chairs  and 
a  babbling  of  voices,  and  the  crowd  divided 
into  chattering  groups.  Some  of  the  fellows 
did  n't  seem  to  know  anybody,  and  they  either 
went  out  and  strolled  up  and  down  the  cor 
ridor  or  sat  studying  the  synopsis.  The  host 
of  the  evening  had  provided  beer  and  ginger 
ale  and  cheese  and  crackers  with  which  to 
sustain  life  until  the  ordeal  was  over.  He 
could  well  afford  it,  as  there  were  at  least 
seventy-five  men  in  the  room,  every  one  of 
whom  would  deposit  three  dollars  and  a  half 
before  he  left. 

While  Berri  and  I  and  most  of  our  table 
were  talking  in  a  corner,  a  fellow  named  Smith, 
a  Sophomore,  sauntered  over  to  us.  Berri 
and  I  were  the  only  ones  who  knew  him,  so 
of  course  he  must  have  come  just  to  speak  to 
us.  1  don't  remember  what  he  said  exactly, 
as  the  conversation  of  the  others  sort  of  faded 
away  when  he  approached,  and  Berri  and  I 
were  fearfully  rattled.  He  's  very  prominent 
and  belongs  to  everything.  After  we  had 
stood  there  for  a  minute  or  two,  Hemington 
and  Bertie  Stockbridge  and  the  others  drifted 
off,  leaving  us  three  together,  and  in  a  moment 

292 


THE    DIARY   OF   A  FRESHMAN 

more  Berri  said,  "  I  'm  going  over  to  get 
another  cracker,"  and  also  left  us.  I  hap 
pened  to  notice  that  he  didn't  go  near  the 
crackers,  and  furthermore  he  never  came  back. 
This  seemed  so  queer  and  unlike  Berri  that  I 
spoke  to  him  about  it  on  the  way  home  and 
asked  him  why  he  had  done  it.  He  answered 
by  saying,  — 

"  You  don't  have  to  be  much  of  a  fox  to 
know  when  you  're  wanted  and  when  you  're 
not  ;  and  that  happened  to  be  one  of  the  times 
when  I  wasn't."  This  struck  me  as  absurd, 
and  does  still.  Berri  knew  Smith  every  bit  as 
well  as  I  did,  for  the  only  other  time  he  had 
ever  spoken  to  us  we  happened  to  be  together 
just  as  we  were  the  night  of  the  seminar.  I 
reminded  Berri  of  this  ;  but  he  only  laughed 
a  little  and  replied,  — 

"  Well,  as  Fleetwood  says,  « I  'm  an  old 
man  and  I  know  my  place.' '  Since  then 
Smith  has  joined  me  tw7ice  when  I  was  walk 
ing  through  the  Yard  and  seemed  very  friendly 
in  a  distant  kind  of  way.  I  mean  that  his 
joining  me  at  all  was  friendly  ;  he  is  n't  much 
of  a  talker,  and  I  never  know  quite  what  to 
say  to  him.  Of  course  it 's  very  nice  in  him 
to  do  it,  but  it  makes  me  rather  uncomfort 
able  ;  for  both  times  we  stopped  a  moment 

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THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

on  the  steps  of  Sever  —  the  bell  had  n't  rung 
yet  —  and  although  there  were  a  lot  of  fellows 
I  knew  waiting  to  go  in,  they  merely  nodded 
to  me  and  then  looked  away. 

But  I  'm  forgetting  about  the  seminar.  We 
went  back  to  our  chairs  again,  and  once  more 
tuned  our  ears  to  the  monotonous  voice  of 
the  lecturer,  that  dragged  on  and  on  till  mid 
night.  It  became  harder  and  harder  to  take 
in  everything  he  said.  The  air  was  heavy 
with  the  smoke  of  Egyptian  cigarettes,  and 
I  counted  nine  men  who  were  sound  asleep. 
I  suppose  that,  even  though  asleep,  they  were 
more  likely  to  acquire  a  fact  or  two  than  if 
they  hadn't  been  there  at  all.  Just  at  the 
end  —  I  can  hear  him  now  —  the  man  on  the 
platform  leaned  back  wearily  with  closed  eyes 
and  chanted  in  the  same  hopeless  tone,  — 

"  Let  me  once  more  urge  upon  you  the 
importance  of  expressing  in  your  examination 
papers  sympathy  with  the  Greek  life,  the 
Greek  art,  and  the  Greek  ideals  of  the  best 
period.  A  page  or  two  of  sincere  regret  that 
we  moderns  do  not  possess  the  innate  sense 
of  beauty,  the  joy  of  life,  civic  pride,  harmony, 
and  all  the  other  things  that  the  Greeks  went 
in  for  will  help  you  to  get  a  passing  mark. 
Remember  what  I  told  you  about  o 

294 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


Refer  to  a-ox^poa-vvr)  constantly.  John  Ad- 
dington  Symonds  calls  it  'that  truly  Greek 
virtue  ;  the  correlative  in  morals  to  the  pas 
sion  for  beauty.'  S-y-m-o-n-d-s,  and  there 
are  two  da  in  Addington.  If  you  get  stuck, 
make  use  of  the  quotation  I  gave  you  from 
Goethe  —  G-o-e-t-h-e  —  it  comes  in  well  al 
most  anywhere.  Good-night  and  good  luck." 
He  stood  at  the  door  as  we  passed  out,  hold 
ing  a  box  in  his  hand,  into  which  every  one 
dropped  three  Plunks  and  a  half.  I  was 
tired  when  we  got  home  and  went  right  to 
bed.  But  Berri  sat  up  almost  until  morning, 
studying  the  synopsis  and  going  over  his  notes. 
It  must  have  been  some  time  before  this 
that  Berri's  thesis  arrived  from  England  one 
morning  with  a  long  letter  from  Duggie.  I 
have  kept  a  sort  of  lookout  for  it  right  along, 
but  that  morning  Berri  saw  the  postman  from 
my  window  and  ran  downstairs  to  meet  him. 
As  he  was  coming  up,  he  exclaimed  in  a  sur 
prised  voice,  "  What  on  earth  do  you  sup 
pose  —  "  and  then  broke  off  abruptly.  He 
passed  quickly  through  my  room,  dropping  a 
bill  on  my  desk  as  he  went,  and  after  that  the 
house  for  about  half  an  hour  was  very  silent. 
I  had  so  often  wondered  what  Berri  would 
do,  what  he  would  say,  how  he  would  take 

295 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

Duggie's  letter  when  it  came,  that  I  instinc 
tively  knew  it  had  at  last  arrived,  and  asked 
no  questions. 

He  surprised  me  by  neither  saying  nor  doing 
anything  ;  and  for  two  days  I  had  no  reason 
to  suppose  that  the  thesis  had  wandered  back 
to  Cambridge  at  all  beyond  the  feeling  in  my 
bones  that  it  had.  On  the  third  day,  however, 
Berri,  who  was  just  starting  off  to  spend 
Sunday  at  his  aunt's,  stopped  in  my  room 
with  a  letter  in  his  hand.  He  looked  at  it 
doubtfully  for  a  moment,  as  if  making  up  his 
mind  about  something,  and  then  tossed  it  into 
my  lap. 

"  I  got  that  from  Sherwin  the  other  day," 
he  said  ;  and  then  added,  as  he  made  for  the 
door  and  I  drew  the  letter  from  its  envelope, — 

"  Well,  it  may  be  all  for  the  best." 

I  don't  think  anybody  could  read  Duggie's 
letter  and  not  feel  that  it  was  for  the  best. 
Berri  has  n't  said  anything  more  about  it,  and 
neither  have  I.  There  really  is  n't  anything 
to  say. 

I  passed  all  my  exams.  My  marks  are  n't 
anything  to  be  stuck  up  about,  but  they  let 
me  through  decently,  and  in  three  courses 
were  even  a  little  better  than  they  actually 
had  to  be,  —  which  is  a  comfort  in  a  way. 

296 


For  my  adviser  says  he  thinks  that  in  a  few 
weeks  it  would  n't  do  any  harm  to  petition  the 
administrative  board  (or  whatever  it  is  that  has 
charge  of  such  things)  to  let  me  off  probation. 
He  says  he  can't  promise  anything,  of  course, 
but  that  stranger  things  have  happened ;  all 
of  which  seems  to  me  rather  to  explode  Berri's 
conviction  that  every  adviser  in  college  spends 
all  his  odd  moments  in  devising  fiendish 
schemes  for  the  destruction  of  his  Freshmen 
charges.  But  then  Berri  was  unfortunate  in 
his  adviser.  He  is  n't  young  and  does  n't  try 
to  be  sympathetic  like  mine,  and  he  annoys 
Berri  extremely  by  glaring  at  him  over  a  pair 
of  steel-rimmed  spectacles  and  exclaiming  a 
propos  of  nothing,  — 

"  You  can't  fool  me  —  you  can't  fool  me  !  " 
My  adviser  has  had  me  to  dinner  twice  at 
the  professors'  club.  He  invites  his  Fresh 
men,  four  or  five  at  a  time,  to  dinner,  in  order, 
I  suppose,  to  get  to  know  them  better.  Of 
course,  he  never  really  does  get  to  know  us 
better  by  having  these  stiff  little  parties,  but 
it 's  awfully  kind  of  him  to  ask  us,  and  he  thinks 
he  does  ;  so  it 's  all  right.  I  dreaded  the  first 
one,  but  my  dread  wasn't  a  patch  on  the 
dread  with  which  I  dreaded  the  second,  be 
cause  I  'd  been  to  the  first.  Naturally  I 

297 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

did  n't  dare  refuse  to  go  to  either  of  them. 
Nobody  does.  The  dinner  itself  is  good,  and 
my  adviser  not  only  lays  himself  out  to  be  just 
as  nice  as  possible,  —  he  succeeds.  Yet  the 
fellows  don't  feel  altogether  at  their  ease 
somehow  and  are  n't  themselves.  They  want 
to  be  and  try  to  be,  and  once  in  a  while  they 
put  up  a  pretty  good  bluff  at  it,  but  they  never 
quite  are.  I  don't  know  how  to  explain  it 
exactly,  but  when  you  can't  help  feeling  that 
your  host  is  sizing  you  up  and  talking  only 
about  the  things  he  thinks  you  like  to  talk 
about  —  even  if  you  do  like  to  talk  about 
them,  why,  you  just  can't.  (I've  read  that 
sentence  over  six  times  and  it  means  a  little 
less  every  time.)  After  dinner  he  takes  the 
fellows  up  to  his  room  and  asks  them  to 
smoke,  and  they  never  know  which  would  be 
the  better  swipe,  —  to  accept  or  to  refuse. 
Some  decide  one  way  and  some  the  other ; 
but  whether  they  want  to  smoke  or  not  has 
very  little  to  do  with  the  decision.  The  best 
part  of  the  evening  comes  when  somebody 
gets  up  enough  nerve  to  murmur  that  he  is 
very  sorry  he  has  to  say  good-night,  as  he  has 
a  lot  of  studying  to  do.  This  usually  makes 
the  others  laugh,  and  it  always  breaks  up  the 
party.  Then  the  fellows  get  together  in 

298 


somebody's  room  —  if  they  know  one  another 
well  enough  —  and  talk  the  thing  over. 

Oh,  I  wish  spring  would  come !  This 
seems  to  be  the  time  of  year  when  nothing 
much  happens.  As  long  as  we  were  all 
grinding  most  of  the  day  for  the  mid-years, 
I  did  n't  think  much  about  the  weather,  ex 
cept  that  when  it  was  bad  there  wasn't  so 
much  temptation  to  idle  out  of  doors.  Now, 
however,  everybody  wants  the  weather  to  be 
good,  and  it 's  vile.  It  always  manages  to 
do  four  or  five  different  things  in  the  course 
of  a  day,  and  the  walking  is  unspeakable. 
To  a  certain  extent,  though,  this  is  the  fault 
of  the  town  itself.  Most  of  the  residence 
streets  have  dirt  sidewalks  and  curbstones 
that  might  be  very  picturesque  in  Egypt  or 
some  place  where  it  did  n't  rain  and  snow  and 
freeze  and  melt  all  in  the  course  of  a  few 
hours  ;  but  here  they  turn  into  troughs  full 
of  mud  and  slush,  and  the  curbstones  keep 
the  mixture  from  running  into  the  gutter.  I 
know  I  ought  n't  to  criticise  such  a  fine  old 
town.  So  many  great  people  have,  all  their 
lives,  floundered  uncomplainingly  through 
Cambridge  mud  that  I  suppose  it 's  cheeky 
of  me  to  notice  it.  But  in  wet  weather  the 
sidewalks  are  really  not  nice.  In  front  of  a 

299 


THE   DIARY   OF   A  FRESHMAN 

few  houses  the  owners  put  down  temporary 
wooden  walks, — three  boards  wide,  running 
lengthwise,  —  but  you  invariably  meet  a  lady 
in  the  middle  of  them  and  have  to  jump  grace 
fully  into  the  nearest  puddle,  looking  as  if  you 
considered  this  the  dearest  privilege  of  your 
young  life. 

The  candidates  for  the  track  team  are  crazy 
to  get  out  of  doors  and  begin  regular  practice 
on  the  Soldiers' Field  cinder  track,  but  it 's 
too  soft  yet  to  be  raked  and  rolled,  and  they 
have  to  keep  working  in  the  gym  and  on  the 
tiresome  old  board  track  behind  it.  Dick 
Smith  was  talking  about  this  not  long  ago 
when  he  joined  me  in  the  Yard.  He  says 
it 's  great  on  a  warm  spring  morning  to  go 
across  the  river  and  sit  on  the  bleachers  and 
watch  the  fellows  practise  starting  and  short 
sprints. 

Well,  there's  nothing  like  that  now.  I 
hardly  know  how  the  days  go  by. 


300 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


XVI 

I  NOTICE  that  when  I  last  wrote  in  my 
diary  I  was  wishing  for  spring,  and  here 
it  is  almost  the  end  of  June !  Where 
did  all  those  slow  days  I  complained  of 
go  to  so  quickly,  I  wonder  ?  How  did  T  spend 
them,  and  why  haven't  I  tried  to  tell  about 
them?  I  don't  know  unless  it  was  because 
they  were  so  slow  and  did  go  so  quickly. 
Nothing  ever  happened,  really,  until  just  at 
the  end ;  but  to-day  with  Cambridge  sizzling 
hot  (I  can  smell  the  asphalt  on  the  main 
street  even  here  in  my  room)  and  perfectly 
deserted,  except  for  its  inhabitants  (who 
don't  count)  and  the  kids  who  have  come  to 
take  their  entrance  exams,  the  last  three 
months  and  a  half  seem  like  a  dream. 
The  spring  is  scarcely  over,  and  yet  I  've 
already  begun  to  look  forward  to  it  again 
next  year. 

I  liked  it  so  much,  I  suppose,  because  in 
Perugia  we  don't,  as  a  rule,  have  any.  Out 
there  it 's  very  much  like  what  you  read  about 
Russia  :  for  a  long  time  it 's  winter,  and  then 
you  wake  up  some  morning  feeling  as  if  you 
had  spent  the  night  in  a  Turkish  bath,  and 

301 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

know  that  it  is  summer  ;  you  know  that  the 
soda-fountains  are  hissing,  that  a  watering- 
cart  is  jolting  past,  leaving  behind  it  a  damp, 
earthy  sensation  (something  between  an  odor 
and  a  faint  breeze),  that  an  Italian  is  leaning 
over  the  fence  languidly  calling  out,  "  Bananos 
—  bananos,"  that  a  scissors-grinder  is  ding- 
donging  in  the  distance,  and  that,  of  course, 
a  lawn-mower  is  whirring  sharply  back  and 
forth  under  your  windows. 

Here  warm  weather  comes  slowly  and  shyly, 
as  if  it  could  n't  quite  make  up  its  mind  to 
come  at  all.  There  are  many  days  that  from 
the  other  side  of  a  pane  of  glass  look  all  blue 
and  white  and  gold,  and  tempt  you  to  snatch 
up  a  cap  and  run  out.  You  do  this,  and  stand 
undecidedly  on  the  sidewalk  for  a  moment ; 
then  you  go  in  again  and  put  on  your  over 
coat  and  gloves. 

Somehow  the  leaves  don't  seem  to  burst 
out  all  at  once,  as  they  do  with  us.  You 
notice  first,  on  Brattle  Street  and  in  the  Yard, 
that  the  trees  have  undergone  a  change.  That 
is,  you  think  they  have  ;  the  change  is  so  slight 
you  aren't  sure,  and  may  have  only  imagined 
it,  after  all.  But  in  a  few  days  —  I  can't  now 
remember  how  many  —  you  know  that  you 
were  right ;  the  branches  and  twigs  that  have 

302 


stood  out  so  hard  and  definite  against  all  the 
winter  sunsets  have  blurred  a  little,  —  they 
are  no  longer  altogether  in  focus.  They  blur 
more  and  more  as  the  days  go  by,  until  —  shall 
I  ever  forget  it  ?  —  you  cease  to  think  of  them 
as  trees,  and  only  know  that  over  and  beyond 
you  there  is  a  faint,  uncertain  mist  of  tenderest 
green,  —  so  faint,  so  uncertain  that  you  almost 
glance  up  to  see  whether  it  has  drifted  away  on 
a  slow,  pungent  gust  from  the  marshes.  But 
instead  of  doing  that,  it  grows  denser  and 
greener  against  the  rain-washed  blue,  until  it 
is  no  longer  a  mist,  but  a  cloud.  Then  at  last 
there  is  a  delicious  crinkling,  and  the  leaves 
have  come.  In  May  and  June  bleak,  shabby 
Cambridge  covers  all  its  angles  and  corners. 
They  are  softened  and  filled  with  billows  and 
jets  and  sprays  and  garlands,  —  green,  gold, 
silver,  mauve,  and  —  what  is  the  color  of  apple 
blossoms  ?  They  are  such  a  tremor  of  white 
and  pink  that  I  never  really  know.  The  wind 
loses  its  bite,  and  then  its  chill.  The  air  is 
moist  and  warm,  and  as  you  walk  slowly 
through  the  quiet  leafy  streets  at  night,  the 
damp,  fresh  lilacs  stretch  out  to  dabble  against 
your  face,  and  something  —  it  may  be  the 
stillness  and  sweetness  of  it  all,  or  it  may  be 
just  the  penetrating  smell  of  the  box  hedges  — 

303 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

something  makes  you  very  sad  and  very  happy 
at  the  same  time. 

During  the  day,  between  lectures,  we  loafed 
a  good  deal,  —  on  Brattle  Street  chiefly  ;  and 
often  in  the  afternoon,  when  we  were  begin 
ning  to  think  of  thinking  of  grinding  for  the 
finals,  Berri  and  I  and  occasionally  Hemington 
used  to  take  a  book  or  some  notes  and  go  up 
to  the  vacant  lot  across  the  street  from  the 
Longfellow  house.  At  the  further  end  of  this 
open  space  —  a  meadow  during  the  poet's  life- 
time,  but  now,  unfortunately,  a  rather  ugly 
little  park  —  there  is  a  stone  terrace  with  a 
short  flight  of  steps  and  two  broad  stone  seats 
against  the  wall  below.  Passionate  pilgrims 
come  there  for  a  moment,  once  in  a  while,  but 
as  a  rule  it  is  deserted.  We  pretended  to 
study  here ;  but  dates  and  formulas  and 
Geschmitzenmenger's  reflections  on  the  build 
ing  materials  of  ancient  Rome  always  got 
mixed  up  in  Hemington's  tobacco  smoke,  or 
we  forgot  about  them  in  watching  the  sun 
sparkle  on  the  pools  left  by  the  falling  tide. 
Berri  said  that  even  Italy  had  very  little  more 
to  offer  one  than  a  stone  bench  soaked  in  sun 
light  and  the  delusion  that  one  was  accomplish 
ing  something.  Now  and  then  we  strolled  in 
Longfellow's  garden.  The  family  were  out 

3°4 


THE    DIARY   OF  A   FRESHMAN 

of  town,  and  Berri  inherits  the  privilege  of 
doing  this  from  his  aunt. 

I  can't  get  away  from  the  idea  that  although 
the  days  were  getting  longer  and  slower  as 
Class  Day  drew  near,  they  went  ever  so  much 
more  quickly  than  they  had  at  first ;  notwith 
standing,  also,  the  fact  that  I  got  up  earlier. 
I  happened  to  do  this  the  first  time  by  acci 
dent.  Bertie  Stockbridge  was  the  only  per 
son  at  breakfast,  and  when  I  asked  him  not 
to  leave  me  alone,  he  said  he  had  to  or  he 
would  be  late  for  Chapel.  I  hadn't  known 
before  that  he  went  to  Chapel,  but  he  told  me 
he  never  missed  a  morning.  I  hadn't  been 
there  myself  at  all,  but  that  morning  I  went 
with  him.  It  was  very  nice.  The  President 
was  there,  and  the  Dean,  and  several  of  the 
professors,  and  a  good  many  students  —  some 
of  whom  I  would  n't  have  suspected  of  even 
knowing  where  the  Chapel  was.  The  music 
was  fine ;  the  little  boys  in  the  choir  sang  like 
angels,  —  the  same  little  boys  who  used  to 
paste  us  with  snowballs  during  the  winter. 
After  that  I  went  to  Chapel  almost  every 
morning  until  college  closed.  It  was  a  good 
way  to  begin  the  day,  somehow.  Berri  began 
to  go  too  after  a  while,  but  he  said  he  did  it 
to  give  him  luck  in  his  exams. 

*o  305 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

On  Saturday  afternoons  and  Sundays  we 
bicycled  a  great  deal  when  the  roads  began  to 
get  into  shape.  The  whole  table  would  start 
off  and  explore  the  park  system,  and  once  we 
made  a  historical  tour  of  Lexington  and  Con 
cord,  which  Berri  wrote  up  for  the  Lampoon. 
I  think  Berri  will  make  the  Lampoon  next 
year  if  he  keeps  on.  His  way  of  going  about 
it  is  killing.  He  writes  things,  and  then 
comes  into  my  room  with  a  solemn,  anxious 
face,  and  says,  — 

"Do  you  think  this  is  funny?  Glance 
through  it  carelessly  and  tell  me  just  how  it 
strikes  you.  I  think  it 's  perfectly  side-split 
ting  myself,  —  I  do  really  ;  but  it  might  n't 
strike  anybody  else  that  way." 

Then  there  was  Riverside,  where  the 
Charles  all  but  loses  itself  between  steep, 
cool,  shady  banks,  under  trees  that  peer  over 
the  edges  all  through  the  long,  drowsy  sum 
mer,  or  flows  brimming  across  a  meadow 
where  a  man  ploughs  a  rich  black  border  and 
talks  to  his  horses  and  sings.  It  takes  just 
the  amount  of  effort  you  like  to  make,  to  fol 
low  in  a  canoe  the  course  of  this  lazy  stream. 
Riverside  is  another  place  to  which  you  like 
to  take  all  the  essentials  for  study  except  the 
power  of  will. 

306 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

As  the  board  decided  to  let  me  off  proba 
tion  late  in  the  spring,  I  could  cut  lectures 
once  more  without  anything  very  terrible  hap 
pening,  and  it  was  great  on  a  warm  morning 
to  walk  into  town  for  luncheon  and  keep  our 
hats  off  while  we  were  on  the  bridge.  There 's 
almost  always  a  sea-breeze  on  the  bridge. 

I  hardly  know  how  to  write  of  the  surpris 
ing  and  wonderful  thing  that  happened  to  me 
at  the  end  of  May.  It  came  so  unexpectedly 
that  even  now  I  sometimes  stop  to  wonder  if 
it  ever  happened  at  all,  and  if  I  can  be  really 
I.  But  when  I  think  it  all  over  carefully,  re 
membering  a  few  of  the  situations  that  led  up 
to  it,  —  trifling  incidents  that  were  inexplica 
ble  at  the  time  and  worried  me  very  much,  — 
I  see  now  that  I  wasn't  very  intelligent  in 
not  suspecting  a  little  what  they  meant.  I 
never  did,  though,  not  in  the  least. 

The  thing  that  happened  —  how  little  the 
simple  statement  would  mean  to  papa,  for 
instance,  and  how  much  it  really  does  mean ! 
—  the  thing  that  happened  was,  that  I  made 
the  First  Ten  of  the  Dickey. 

As  long  ago  as  April,  the  First  Ten  began 
to  be  —  well,  it  began  to  be  very  much  on 
people's  minds,  although,  of  course,  hardly 
anything  was  said  about  it.  Berri  and  I 

3°7 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

used  to  talk  about  it  a  little ;  Hemington  and 
I  mentioned  it  once  in  a  while ;  I  suppose 
there  are  about  four  men  in  our  class  that  I 
knew  well  enough  to  discuss  it  with.  But 
naturally  we  spoke  of  it  only  when  we  were 
absolutely  alone.  If  any  one  else  came  into 
the  room,  we  began  to  talk  about  something 
else.  Yet,  although  the  subject  could  n't 
come  up  in  general  conversation,  I  often  knew 
that  it  was  there  —  in  everybody's  thoughts  — 
in  the  atmosphere.  Every  day  some  little 
thing  would  happen  that  almost  made  you 
jump,  as  it  suddenly  brought  the  question  into 
your  mind,  *'  Who  is  going  to  make  the  First 
Ten  ?  "  things,  for  instance,  like  seeing  some 
one  in  our  class  walking  through  the  Square 
with  a  Dickey  man  who  was  in  the  Sophomore 
class.  That  always  looked  as  if  it  meant 
something,  because  —  well,  because  it  very 
often  did  mean  something.  One  night  Berri 
told  me  (in  the  strictest  confidence,  of  course) 
that  Phil  Blackwood  —  an  upper  classman  — 
had  met  a  girl  cousin  of  his  in  town  at  a  tea, 
and  had  said  to  her  that  he  liked  Berri,  and 
thought  he  was  great  fun  to  talk  to.  She  had 
told  this  to  Berri's  aunt,  who  had  repeated 
the  remark  to  Berri,  who  was  in  a  great  state 
about  it,  and  wondered  how  much  importance 

308 


THE    DIARY   OF   A  FRESHMAN 

he  ought  to  attach  to  it.     It  really  did  sound 
to  me  as  if  something  might  come  of  it. 

We  made  lists  of  names  and  bet  on  them, 
and  then  locked  them  up  in  our  desks.  I  put 
Berri's  name  on  my  list ;  but  whether  or  not 
he  put  mine  on  his,  I  don't  know,  for  after  the 
crash  came,  we  forgot  to  compare  notes. 

As  the  time  grew  near,  not  only  Berri,  but 
a  good  many  fellows  I  knew  well  began  to 
treat  me  in  a  way  I  did  n't  understand  and 
did  n't  like.  I  don't  know  just  how  to  describe 
the  gradual  change  in  their  manner  toward  me, 
because  it  was  the  sort  of  thing  you  feel  with 
out  being  able  to  put  your  finger  on  the  cause, 
or  even  on  the  change  itself,  without  seeming 
morbid  and  exaggerated.  But  I  could  n't 
help  realizing  that  they  treated  me  rather 
coolly.  They  stopped  coming  to  my  room  as 
often  as  they  had  been  in  the  habit  of  coming, 
they  left  me  out  of  all  sorts  of  little  things  I 
had  always  been  in  before  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  more  than  once,  as  I  took  my  seat  at  the 
table  or  went  into  somebody's  room,  I  could 
see  that  my  appearance  made  the  fellows  un 
comfortable  for  a  moment,  or  at  least  gave  the 
talk  a  different  turn.  All  this  hurt  my  feelings 
terribly,  and  I  tried  to  think  what  I  could  have 
done  to  make  the  fellows  I  liked  best  and  con- 

3°9 


sidered  my  friends  treat  me  this  way.  But  I 
could  n't  think  of  a  thing.  I  supposed  I  must 
have  done  something  without  appreciating 
what  the  consequences  would  be.  It  made 
me  feel  pretty  badly,  I  can  tell  you,  and  sev 
eral  times  I  was  on  the  point  of  demanding  an 
explanation ;  but  they  were  all  so  polite  and 
distant  and  reserved  that  I  never  could  bring 
myself  to. 

Of  course,  now  I  understand  exactly  why 
it  was,  and  see  how  hopelessly  stupid  I 
must  have  been  not  to  have  suspected  any 
thing.  The  whole  situation  arose  from  the 
fact  that  there  was  a  rumor  in  the  class  to 
the  effect  that  I  was  being  considered  for  the 
First  Ten,  —  a  rumor  that  was  apparently 
given  foundation  by  my  being  seen  several 
times  with  Dick  Smith.  This  made  the  fel 
lows  instinctively  avoid  me  a  little,  from  a 
feeling  that  I  and  the  class  generally  might 
imagine  that  they  were  trying  to  swipe  if  they 
went  around  much  with  me.  It  seems  to  me 
now  particularly  dense  on  my  part  not  to  have 
had  a  glimmer  of  this,  because  it  was  just  the 
way  I  felt  myself  toward  Tucker  Ludlow, 
who  had  gone  to  the  theatre  one  night  with 
Phil  Blackwood,  and  two  or  three  other  men 
who  were  spoken  of  for  the  First  Ten.  Yet 

310 


I  never  dreamed  that  any  one  could  look  at 
me  in  this  way. 

Well,  things  went  on,  getting  more  whis- 
pery  and  panicky  and  uncomfortable,  until 
finally  one  night  at  the  end  of  last  month  t he- 
crash  came.  Just  how  anybody  really  knew 
that  the  Dickey  was  having  its  great  spring 
meeting  for  the  purpose  of  electing  the  First 
Ten  it  would  be  impossible  to  say,  for  I  can't 
believe  that  it  was  breathed  in  so  many  words  , 
but  we  did  know  it,  and  we  knew  that  it  lasted 
for  three  days  and  three  nights  before  the  de 
cision  was  reached.  Then 

In  the  afternoon  Dick  Smith  overtook  me 
in  the  street,  and  after  walking  along  for  half 
a  block,  said  abruptly,  — 

"  By  the  way,  Wood,  stay  in  your  room 
to-night,"  and  then  disappeared  in  a  doorway. 

I  think  my  heart  stopped  beating.  I  did  n't 
dare  let  myself  dwell  on  the  meaning  of  his 
words,  but  stumbled  to  my  lecture  and  sat 
there,  simply  dazed.  At  the  end  of  the  hour 
I  ran  back  to  my  room.  When  I  heard  Bern 
come  in,  I  grabbed  a  book  and  stared  at  it 
blindly,  without  seeing  a  word ;  but  Berri 
passed  along  the  hall  to  his  own  study  without 
so  much  as  stopping  at  my  open  door.  I 
did  n't  go  to  our  table  for  luncheon ;  I  slipped 

311 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

into  The  Holly  Tree  later  instead.  But  I 
could  n't  eat  anything  ;  I  was  so  excited  and 
nervous  and  full  of  doubt  and  fright  that  I 
don't  remember  just  how  I  got  through  the 
afternoon.  I  know  I  tried  to  sit  in  my  room, 
but  gave  it  up  and  buried  myself  for  a  while 
in  one  of  the  alcoves  of  the  library.  Later  I 
walked  in  back  streets,  and  then  ran  all  the 
way  home,  when  the  light  began  to  fade,  fear 
ing  that  something  —  I  could  n't  bring  myself 
to  think  just  what  —  might  happen  in  my  ab 
sence.  By  that  time  I  was  painfully  hungry, 
and  managed  to  swallow  a  cup  of  tea  and  a 
piece  of  toast  at  The  Holly  Tree. 

The  evening  was  endless.  I  tried  to  read, 
but  by  the  time  I  reached  the  end  of  a  sen 
tence  I  had  forgotten  the  beginning  of  it. 
Then  I  tried  to  write  a  letter  to  mamma,  but 
my  hand  trembled  so  that  the  writing  scarcely 
looked  like  mine  at  all,  and  anyhow  I  couldn't 
think  of  enough  to  fill  the  first  page.  It  was 
as  if  I  were  two  distinct  persons,  —  one  try 
ing  to  write  a  calm  letter  to  mamma,  and  the 
other  in  an  agony  of  apprehension  and  uncer 
tainty.  I  don't  know  which  was  worse,  — 
the  feeling  that  the  Dickey  was  coming  for 
me,  or  the  feeling  that  perhaps  it  wasn't. 
Could  Dick  Smith  have  merely  meant  that  he 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

might  drop  in  to  see  me  that  evening?  He 
had  never  been  in  my  room,  and  it  seemed 
unlikely  that  he  should  come  in  that  way. 
His  manner,  too,  of  telling  me  to  stay  at  home 
had  been  so  odd,  his  leave-taking  so  abrupt. 
I  turned  these  things  over  in  my  mind  inter 
minably  ;  then  I  would  glance  at  the  clock 
and  find  the  hands  glued  to  the  same  old 
place. 

To  make  things  worse,  Berri  had  come 
home  almost  as  soon  as  I  had,  and  was  in  his 
room  with  the  door  shut.  I  longed  to  go  in, 
but  the  feeling  that  I  would  n't  have  anything 
to  say  if  I  did,  kept  me  back.  He  made  me 
even  more  nervous  than  I  really  was  by  walk 
ing  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  and  occasion 
ally  moving  a  chair  as  if  he  had  run  into  it  in 
his  restless  promenade  and  were  pushing  it 
viciously  out  of  the  way.  If  his  manner 
hadn't  been  so  strained  and  queer,  I  think 
I  should  have  gone  in  anyhow  and  relieved 
my  mind.  I  did  n't  intend  to  do  quite  this, 
but  at  the  end  of  about  two  hours  I  could  n't 
endure  the  lonely  suspense  any  longer,  and 
decided  at  least  to  knock  on  his  door  and 
borrow  something  —  I  did  n't  know  what  when 
I  started.  Mrs.  Chester  had  forgotten  to  light 
the  lamp  in  the  hall,  and  as  I  was  feeling  my 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

way  through  the  darkness  and  deciding  that  a 
match  would  be  the  most  plausible  excuse 
for  going  in  and  then  going  out  again  almost 
immediately,  I  bumped  into  somebody  coming 
the  other  way.  We  both  jumped  back,  and 
I  thought  for  a  second  that  I  was  about  to 
collapse  at  the  knees. 

"Oh,  it's  you!"  Berri  exclaimed  in  a 
voice  that  I  just  recognized  as  his.  "  Heavens  ! 
but  you  scared  me.  I  was  on  my  way  to  your 
room  to  borrow  your  —  your  —  your  —  to  bor 
row —  Oh,  Granny  !  '  He  broke  off  with  a 
kind  of  gulp,  and  threw  his  arms  around  me. 
"  Isn't  this  ghastly  !  "  Then  I  knew  that  he 
had  been  told  to  stay  in  his  room  too,  and  had 
been  suffering  the  same  horrors.  Ever  since 
dinner  he  had  been  pacing  the  floor  unable, 
just  as  I  had  been,  to  make  up  his  mind  as 
to  the  exact  significance  of  the  advice  to  be 
at  home  that  evening.  He  could  n't  help  feel 
ing  that  it  might  have  been  a  mistake,  that 
something  would  go  wrong  ;  and  that  again, 
if  nothing  did  go  wrong,  there  was  the  hideous 
conjecture  as  to  what  would  happen  to  you 
to  look  forward  to. 

We  sat  down  in  my  study,  —  Berri  on  the 
edge  of  a  chair,  his  hands  folded  with  desper 
ate  calmness  on  his  lap ;  I  at  my  desk,  where 

3*4 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

I  found,  after  a  minute  or  two  of  strained 
silence,  that  I  had  dug  a  great  hole  in  my 
blotter  and  ruined  a  stylographic  pen. 

"  If  they  do  come,"  Berri  at  last  whispered, 
"  how  do  you  think  we  ought  to  be  found  ?  I 
don't  know  that  it  would  be  altogether  the 
thing  to  be  so  —  so  dressed  and  apparently 
waiting."  Our  extreme  preparedness  did  seem 
rather  assuming,  now  that  he  spoke  of  it ;  I 
was  far  from  wanting  to  appear  cock-sure  of 
my  election  or  of  anything  else  to  a  fiendish 
mob  such  as  we  had  watched  from  my  window 
that  night  in  the  autumn. 

"  And  yet,"  I  answered,  «'  if  we  took  off 
very  much,  I  don't  suppose  they  would  wait 
for  us  to  dress  ;  in  fact,  I  don't  think  I  could 
dress,  and  when  I  came  in,  it  seemed  to  be 
getting  cool  outsi —  " 

"  Ssssshh !  I  thought  I  heard  something," 
Berri  broke  in.  He  leaned  toward  the  window, 
and  as  the  lamplight  fell  on  his  face,  I  saw  for 
the  first  time  how  pale  he  was.  We  listened. 
The  clock  ticked  with  a  queer  little  hum  on 
two  notes  that  I  had  never  known  it  to  make 
before  ;  the  student-lamp  grumbled  twice,  and 
each  time  the  flame  rose  and  fell  ;  I  had  never 
noticed  this,  either. 

"I  was  perfectly  sure,"  Berri  whispered. 
3*5 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

His  whisper  was  several  times  louder  than  his 
ordinary  tone. 

"  How  do  you  think  it  would  do  to  take  off 
our  coats  and  neckties  ?  "  I  suggested.  "  That 
would  look  as  if  we  had  begun  to  get  ready 
for  bed  without  any  suspicion  of —  of —  It ; 
and  at  the  same  time  we  would  have  pretty 
much  everything  on." 

"  You  talk  now  as  if  you  had  made  up  your 
mind  that  they  were  coming,"  Berri  said  ner 
vously.  "  Do  you  think  they  are?  "  The  fact 
of  his  asking  me  this  dropped  me  back  once 
more  into  all  the  sickening  doubt  from  which 
for  a  minute  or  two  I  had  been  unconsciously 
lifted. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  faltered.  "  What  do 
you  think?"  But  instead  of  telling  me  Berri 
exclaimed,  — 

"  Oh,  this  is  awful ! "  and  began  to  walk  up 
and  down  the  room.  As  he  walked  he  took 
off  his  coat  and  threw  it  in  a  corner ;  then  he 
gave  the  end  of  his  necktie  a  jerk  that  not  only 
undid  the  knot  but  ripped  his  shirt  open  from 
his  neck  to  his  shoulders,  for  he  had  forgotten 
that  on  one  side  the  thing  was  pinned.  I  don't 
think  he  realized  what  he  was  doing,  as  he 
went  on  pulling  and  pulling  until  he  had  torn 
out  a  narrow  strip  of  linen  at  least  a  foot  and 

316 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

a  half  long.  Berri,  pacing  the  floor  and  tear 
ing  himself  to  pieces  in  a  nervous  frenzy  as  he 
paced,  struck  rne  all  at  once  as  the  funniest 
thing  I  had  ever  seen,  and  I  began,  first  to 
giggle,  and  then  to  laugh  with  the  kind  of 
laughter  that  takes  possession  of  you  all  over 
and  leaves  you  helpless. 

I  was  leaning  back  in  my  chair,  weak  and 
hysterical,  when  Berri  stopped  as  abruptly  as 
if  he  had  been  shot,  and  stood  petrified  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  Away  in  the  distance 
the  chanting  cry  of  the  Dickey  had  begun  to 
rise  and  fall,  die  with  a  tenor  wail  and  begin 
again  ;  my  laughter  died  with  it,  and  as  I 
lay  there,  hypnotized  by  the  sound,  I  think  I 
must  have  forgotten  to  close  my  mouth,  for 
when  Berri  spoke  again,  my  throat  was 
parched  and  rough.  Perhaps  he  did  n't  speak 
—  I  think  he  just  made  a  feeble  motion  with 
his  hand  that  I  interpreted  as  a  sign  to  take 
off  my  coat  and  necktie.  But  I  could  n't  act 
on  it  ;  I  could  n't  do  anything  but  lean  back 
with  my  eyes  fixed,  and  listen  to  the  approach 
ing  song.  It  grew  louder  and  louder,  clearer 
and  clearer,  fiercer  and  fiercer,  until  it  broke 
all  at  once  into  a  great  roar,  and  I  knew  that 
they  had  turned  the  corner  and  were  coming 
down  our  little  street.  Then  I  felt  Berri's 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

hand  in  mine,  —  it  was  cold  and  wet, — and 
he  was  saying  incoherently,  — 

"  Good-by,  Granny  —  I  mustn't  be  found 
in  your  room  —  good-by  —  I  must  be  found  in 
my  own  room  —  reading  a  book  —  yes  —  read 
ing  a  book — good-by."  Then  the  exultant 
song  and  the  heavy  rhythm  of  feet  under  my 
window  suddenly  stopped  ;  there  was  a  mo 
ment  almost  of  silence,  followed  by  a  hoarse 
yell  from  what  seemed  like  a  thousand  savage 
throats.  In  the  pandemonium  my  ears  dis 
tinguished  here  and  there  the  sound  of  my 
own  name  shouted  and  shrieked  in  various 
tones  of  impatient,  unbridled,  vindictive  eager 
ness,  and  for  a  second  my  thoughts  flashed 
back  to  the  night  Berri  and  I  had  seen  some 
one  else  pulled  out.  That  had  thrilled  me, 
but  this  reduced  me  to  a  quaking  pulp. 

The  door  downstairs  crashed  back  —  there 
was  a  deafening  scramble  on  the  tin  steps  — 
my  own  door  burst  open  —  the  room  was  full 
of  greedy  hands  and  vengeful  faces.  I  was 
lifted — hurled  through  the  air  out  into  the 
hall  and  down  the  stairs  in  two  thuds  —  across 
the  piazza,  down  the  steps,  along  the  walk, 
out  of  the  gate  between  a  double  line  of  exe 
cutioners  into  the  hungry  mob  that  dragged 
me  this  way  and  that,  tore  at  my  hair  and 


THE    DIARY   OF   A  FRESHMAN 

clothes,  rolled  me  in  the  dirt,  and  finally  jerked 
me  upright,  linked  my  arms  in  those  of  some 
other  neophytes  (I  could  n't  see  who  they 
were),  and  started  me  down  the  street  with  a 
kick.  We  swayed  off —  a  million  devils  be 
hind  us  —  roaring  the  Dickey  song,  as  we  had 
been  commanded  to,  at  the  top  of  our  lungs. 


319 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


XVII* 

MOST  of  the  time   I   was   on  my 
knees.      There   were    only   two 
moments  of  relief  in  the  painful 
march ;     they    came    when    the 
crowd  stopped  to  pull  out  two  other  unfortu 
nates  and  hurl  them,  as  I  had   been  hurled, 
from   their  respective   front    doors.     For   the 
time  being  (it  was  a  very  short  time,  however) 
the  rest  of  us  were  neglected  ;   but   as  soon 
as  the  arms  of  our  fellow  neophyte  were  linked 
in  ours,  the  irresistible  impetus  from  behind 
began  once  more  and  we  continued  our  peril 
ous  way. 

At  last  all  ten  of  us  were  shoved  —  a  dazed 
and  gasping  semicircle  —  up  the  steps  of 
Claverly  Hall,  and  our  names  were  cheered 
in  the  order  of  our  election.  With  the  ex 
ception  of  Berri,  I  had  n't  known  before  who 
the  others  were.  In  the  darkness  and  excite 
ment  it  had  been  impossible  to  see.  There 
was  something  ominous  and  depressing  in  the 
cheers  they  gave  us.  Berri  said,  in  talking 

*  For  obvious  reason*,  certain  parts  of  Granny  Wood's  diary 
have  not  been  printed.  Of  the  passages  that  refer  to  the  Dickey, 
only  those  describing  the  society's  public  practices  have  been 
retained.  —  The  Editor. 

320 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

about  it  the  week  afterward,  that  it  was  as 
if  the  cannibal  band  should  cheer  the  mis 
sionary.  Then  the  crowd  melted  away  with 
vague  threats  as  to  what  was  to  come,  and  I 
was  taken  back  to  my  room,  weary  and  stupid, 
by  Dick  Smith.  He  was  to  be  my  guide  and 
only  friend  during  the  week  that  was  to  follow. 
Before  he  left  me,  he  told  me  the  conditions 
of  my  servitude. 

******* 

That  week  was  the  longest  and  most  abso 
lutely  wretched  of  my  life,  I  think  ;  although 
now  that  it  is  over,  I  would  n't  give  up  the 
memory  of  it  for  almost  anything.  Even  in 
the  midst  of  it  the  idea  of  chucking  the  whole 
thing,  as  I  suppose  I  might  have  done,  never 
occurred  to  me.  I  could  at  times  conceive  of 
my  giving  out,  but  never  of  my  giving  up. 
The  first  day  of  my  "  running,"  as  it  is  called, 
from  six  in  the  morning  until  ten  o'clock  at 
night,  was  one  long  embarrassment,  mortifica 
tion,  and  mental  agony  to  me.  I  set  my  teeth 
and  forced  myself  through  it  doggedly.  The 
days  that  followed  were  just  as  bad,  —  even 
worse,  perhaps,  —  but  I  did  n't  have  to  compel 
myself  to  do  things.  I  went  through  them 
mechanically  ;  where  almost  everything  was 
a  hideous  nightmare,  no  one  incident,  after  a 
21  321 


time,  had  the  power  to  overwhelm  me  as  at 
first.  I  was  too  tired  and  dirty  and  unshaven 
and  cowed  to  care  particularly  what  they  made 
me  do,  or  to  have  a  feeling  of  any  kind,  other 
than  one  of  hopeless  submission.  In  the  morn 
ing  after  an  early  breakfast  at  The  Holly 
Tree  *********** 

Then  some  one,  usually  three  or  four,  would 
get  hold  of  me  and  make  me  do  perfectly 
awful  things  in  the  College  Yard  or  on  the 
streets.  I  had  to  perform  so  many  crazy  acts 
that  I  can't  remember  them  all,  or  on  what 
days  they  came,  and,  as  I  said,  I  grew  per 
fectly  indifferent  to  what  I  had  to  do  or  who 
saw  me  do  it. 

One  warm  afternoon  they  made  me  put  on 
three  soft,  thick  sweaters  and  then  took  me 
to  a  drug-store  in  the  Square,  where  they 
poured  over  me  half  the  contents  of  a  long 
line  of  perfumery  bottles  on  the  counter, 
— white-rose,  heliotrope,  patchouly,  musk, 
vlangylang,  violet,  bay-rum,  and  several  kinds 
of  cologne,  —  all  the  deadly  scents  that  one 
investigates  while  waiting  for  a  prescription 
to  be  put  up.  Then  we  got  on  an  electric 
car,  —  the  fellows  who  were  running  me  at 
one  end,  and  I  at  the  other.  They  of  course 
(after  instructing  me  to  snuggle  up  to  my 

322 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

fellow  passengers,  —  refined  old  ladies  and 
peevish  middle-aged  gentlemen  in  particular) 
pretended  to  ignore  me.  But  the  other  pas 
sengers  did  n't.  Everybody  I  sat  next  to 
would  turn,  after  about  three  seconds,  look  at 
me  with  a  slight  contraction  of  the  nostrils, 
and  then  move  away  ;  in  less  than  ten  seconds 
more  they  would  be  on  the  other  side  of  the 
car.  It  was  not  long  before  I  had  one  side 
of  the  car  all  to  myself.  Then  —  this  also  I 
had  been  ordered  to  do  —  when  we  reached 
the  edge  of  the  bridge,  I  jumped  up  and,  as  a 
sort  of  climax,  "threw  a  fit."  Passengers  in 
street  cars  always  find  this  very  trying,  espe 
cially  if  you  fall  down  in  the  aisle  foaming  at 
the  mouth  and  clutch  at  their  feet.  Before  my 
five  days  of  running  were  over,  I  grew  exceed 
ingly  expert  at  throwing  fits.  I  certainly  had 
enough  practice  at  it.  Well,  when  we  got 
across  the  bridge  I  was  hustled  out  of  the  car 

~ 

into  a  drug-store,  where  I  recovered  in  time 
to  catch  the  next  car  back  —  and  do  the  whole 
thing  over  again. 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  that  day,  I  think, 
that  they  took  me  to  the  theatre  —  or,  I  should 
say,  the  theatres,  as  we  visited  several.  (They 
had  in  the  mean  time  taken  off  the  perfume- 
soaked  garments,  not  through  consideration 

323 


THE   DIARY  OF  A   FRESHMAN 

for  my  feelings,  but  for  their  own.)  One 
might  think  that,  under  the  circumstances, 
going  to  the  theatre  would  have  been  a  de 
lightful  rest.  But  it  wasn't.  I  had  a  seat 
all  to  myself  down  in  front,  and  the  fellows 
who  took  me  sat  ten  or  twelve  rows  back. 
Beyond  the  fact  that  the  first  play  we  went  to 
was  a  nice,  staid  performance  that  had  attracted 
a  large  and  very  "dressy"  audience,  I  have  no 
recollection  of  it ;  for  my  thoughts  were  all 
centred  on  the  dreadful  thing  that  was  going 
to  happen  at  the  end  of  the  first  act. 

The  curtain  went  down  ;  there  was  a  polite 
flutter  of  applause,  and  then,  while  the  orches 
tra  was  getting  ready  and  the  house  was  per 
fectly  quiet  except  for  a  murmur  of  talk,  I 
stood  up,  facing  everybody,  and  exclaimed  in 
a  loud,  distinct  voice,  — 

"  This  show  is  bum,  and  I  want  my  money 
back." 

The  effect  was  electrical.  All  conversation 
stopped  instantly,  and  I  could  actually  hear 
the  craning  of  necks  from  one  end  of  the 
theatre  to  the  other. 

"  This  show  is  bum,  and  I  want  my  money 
back,"  I  declared  again,  louder  than  before. 
Some  men  near  me  began  to  laugh  ;  the 
ladies  looked  scared  to  death,  and  from  the 

324 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

gallery  came  a  wild  clapping  of  hands  and 
yells  of,  "That's  no  lie,"  and  "He's  all 
right."  Whereupon  (as  per  instructions)  I 
began  to  yell  the  thing  over  and  over  again  at 
the  top  of  my  voice,  and  kept  it  up  until  four 
ushers  skated  down  the  aisle  and  threw  me 
out,  still  yelling.  I  had  visions,  as  I  flew 
along  toward  the  exit,  of  white-faced  women 
indulging  in  hysterics.  I  did  this  at  two  other 
shows,  and  the  fellows  regretted  very  much 
that  there  didn't  happen  to  be  any  five-act 
plays  in  town,  for  they  said  my  technique  got 
better  and  better  as  the  evening  went  on. 

Then  I  spent  whole  afternoons  in  creeping 
up  behind  the  sparrows  in  the  Square  and  en 
deavoring  to  put  salt  on  their  tails  ;  in  going 
from  shop  to  shop  trying  to  get  the  clerks  to 
change  a  cent ;  in  holding  up  baby  carriages, 
kissing  the  occupants  and  then  remarking  that 
I  was  "  passionately  fond  of  animals."  (I 
kissed  fifty-six  babies  on  Commonwealth 
Avenue  in  one  afternoon.)  I  stalked  Indians 
with  a  little  bow  and  arrow  in  the  Yard  one 
morning  between  lectures  (cutting  lectures 
isn't  allowed),  craftily  creeping  from  tree  to 
tree,  hiding  a  moment,  peeping  out  warily,  and 
finally  exclaiming  as  I  shot  an  arrow  and 
dashed  into  the  open, — 

32S 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"  Bang  —  and  another  red-skin  bit  the  dust." 

This  was  one  of  the  few  times  (except  in  the 
evening)  that  I  saw  Berri  during  the  entire 
week.  He  was  walking  up  and  down  tho 
stone  parapet  of  Matthews  with  a  silly  littlo 
false  red  fringe  of  beard  around  his  neck,  pro 
claiming  to  all  the  passers-by,  — 

"  Listen  to  me  ;  I  am  a  Berrisford  of 
Salem." 

In  a  pair  of  green  tights  and  on  horseback, 
I  distributed  armfuls  of  the  "  smuggled " 
cigars  from  Santa  Bawthawthawthoth  to  the 
Inhabitants  of  Cambridgeport,  and  when  a  great 
crowd  had  collected  around  me,  delivered  a 
lecture  on  the  evils  of  smoking.  I  intercepted 
at  various  times  many  respectable  old  ladies 
on  their  way  across  the  streets,  for  the  purpose 
of  confidentially  whispering,  — 

"  Madam,  I  regret  to  inform  you  that  you 
are  holding  your  skirts  just  a  leetle  too  high." 

I  also  had  to  stop  car  after  car,  put  my  foot 
on  the  step,  tie  my  shoestring,  and  then  stand 
back,  saying  to  the  conductor,  — 

"  Thank  you,  you  may  go  on  now."  This 
is  an  old  game,  but  it 's  a  great  favorite. 

Two  things  happened  (and  only  two)  that 
I  liked.  One  was  when  I  had  to  call  on  a 
girl  in  town  —  I  had  never  seen  her  before  — 

326 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

and  write  all  my  part  of  the  conversation  on 
a  slate.  She  was  very  pretty  and  good  to 
me ;  for  instead  of  being  disgusted  at  my 
appearance  (she  had  every  reason  to  be)  and 
having  me  put  out  of  the  house,  she  made  me 
sit  down  and  ordered  tea  (I  realized,  for  the 
first  time,  how  nice  tea  could  be)  and  was 
altogether  a  perfect  peach.  She  said,  among 
other  things,  that  she  had  been  at  the  theatre 
the  night  I  made  the  row.  I  wrote  on  the 
slate,  "Which  one?  The  performance  was 
given  by  special  request  at  three  different 
places,"  which  made  her  laugh.  I  stayed 
talking,  or  rather  writing,  to  her  for  more  than 
half  an  hour.  The  fellows  who  had  brought 
me  to  the  door  were  very  angry;  for,  thinking 
that  I  would  be  chased  away  by  a  husky  foot 
man  at  the  end  of  a  minute  or  two,  they  had  n't 
told  me  how  long  to  stay  and  were  waiting 
outside  to  see  what  happened.  When  at  last 
I  got  up  to  go,  the  pretty  girl  held  out  her 
hand  very  graciously  and  said,  — 

"  We'll  meet  again  someday,  I'm  sure," 
and  I  wrote  on  the  slate,  — 

"  It  will  not  be  my  fault  if  we  don't.  Good- 
by ! "  She  took  the  slate  and  the  pencil, 
drew  a  line  through  the  last  word,  and  wrote 
under  it,  — 

3*7 


THE    DIARY   OF   A  FRESHMAN 

"  Au  revoir."  Then  I  left.  I  did  meet 
her  again  very  soon  afterwards,  at  the  Beck 
spread  on  Class  Day.  She  was  the  prettiest 
girl  there.  She  'a  going  abroad  in  three  days, 
and  as  papa  let  me  engage  passage  for  our 
trip  (he  and  mamma  and  Mildred  will  be 
here  tomorrow),  it  didn't  take  me  long  to 
decide  on  the  steamer.  When  he  found  that 
I  had  picked  out,  for  no  apparent  reason,  one 
of  the  old  Cunarders  sailing  from  Boston,  he 
was  perfectly  furious,  But  it 's  too  late  for 
him  to  change  now. 

The  other  thing  I  enjoyed  during  my  run 
ning  was  the  day  that  Mr.  Fleetwood  stole 
me  away  from  some  fellows  and  took  me  up 
to  his  room  overlooking  the  Yard.  He  is  an 
old  Dickey  man  himself,  and  had  as  much 
right  to  my  services  as  any  one.  I  embar 
rassed  him  at  first,  I  think.  Strangely  enough, 
I  appreciated  this  a  little  even  then,  when  I 
had  no  business  to  be  appreciating  anything 
beyond  the  fact  that  I  was  a  mere  grovelling 
worm.  He  sat  down,  when  we  went  into  his 
room,  and  looked  at  me  curiously,  diffidently, 
for  a  moment,  as  if  he  did  n't  quite  know  how 
to  begin.  Then  he  said  with  something  of  an 
effort,  as  if  he  considered  himself  a  little  fool 
ish  to  say  anything,  — 

328 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"  What,  pray,  is  your  name  ?  "     I  gave  the 
required  answer,  at  which  he  smiled  —  rather 
sadly,  I  thought ;   although  I  did  n't  see  what 
reason   he  had  to  look  that   way.     Then  he 
asked   me   to    do   several   things,  —  old,   old 
things    that    neophytes    probably   had   to   do 
when  the  Dickey  was  first  started  ;  things  that 
have  become  conventions  ;  the  kind  of  things 
you  are  always  asked  to  do  by  fellows  who 
have  n't  enough  imagination  to  think  of  any 
thing  new.     He  gave  his  commands  (with  him, 
however,  they  became  requests)  slowly,  as  if 
he  couldn't   remember  just  how  they   went. 
And  he  did  n't  always  express  them  the  way 
the  fellows  do.     I  could  n't  help  feeling  that 
if  Shakespeare  had   ever  tried  to  torment  a 
neophyte,  he  had  done  it  in  very  much  the 
same  way.     He  scarcely  noticed  my  attempts 
to  do  what  he  asked.     He  was  interested,  I 
think,  not  so  much  in  discovering  my  feeble 
talents   as  in  recalling   the  general  situation. 
But  he  stopped  doing  even  this  in  a  short  time, 
and  got  up  and  went  over  to  the  open  window 
and   looked    out   into   the   wilderness   of  elm 
leaves  and  down  at  the  cool,  shady  stretches 
of  grass  and  the  yellow  paths  of  the  Yard. 

I  really  think  he  forgot  all  about  me,  for  I 
stood  there  an  interminable  time  waiting  for 

329 


THE  DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

him  to  turn  around.  Just  before  he  did  turn, 
he  yawned  and  said  listlessly  to  himself,  — 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it 's  as  it  should  be." 
He  must  have  said  this  to  himself,  as  he 
seemed  surprised  to  find  me  standing  patiently 
in  the  middle  of  the  room  where  he  had  left 
me. 

"My  dear  boy,  sit  down,  sit  down,"  he 
exclaimed,  —  "  that  is,  unless  you  would  rather 
go  away."  I  answered  that  I  should  rather 
stay  there  if  he  did  n't  mind.  It  was  so  cool 
and  quiet  and  safe  in  his  room  ;  I  knew  that 
no  one  could  ever  find  me,  and  I  was  very 
tired. 

"I  have  some  themes  to  read,"  Fleetwood 
went  on,  "  but  .you  won't  disturb  uie.  Do 
whatever  you  want  to,  and  if  you  feel  like  it, 
talk." 

We  did  talk  a  little.  Then  I  stretched  out 
on  his  divan  and  tried  to  read ;  but  before  I 
had  finished  half  a  chapter  I  drifted  away  into 
the  most  blissful  sleep  I  'v6  ever  had.  I  can 
just  remember  the  whispering  sound  of  foot 
steps  on  the  pavement  under  the  windows,  and 
the  rustle  of  the  crisp  new  leaves.  When  I 
awoke  the  room  was  dark.  There  was  a  sheet 
of  paper  pinned  to  my  coat,  and  when  I  got 
into  the  lighted  corridor  I  saw  written  on  it,  — 

33° 


THE   DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"  In  reply  to  any  questions  as  to  your  dis 
appearance,  you  may  truthfully  explain  that 
you  did  a  difficult  and  important  bit  of  work 
for  W.  J.  Fleetwood."  I  don't  know  yet 
what  he  meant.  Some  day  next  year  I  think 
I  '11  ask  him.  I  don't  believe  I  know  any  one 
who  is  so  very  clever  and  so  very  kind. 

The  next  night  —  the  last  —  the  night  of 
the  ************ 


33 1 


THE    DIARY  OF  A  FRESHMAN 


xvm 

IT  was  only  natural,  I  suppose,  that  for 
a  week  or  so  after  we  had  become  full- 
fledged  Dickey  men  the  First  Ten 
should  have  stuck  pretty  close  together. 
We  had  such  a  lot  to  talk  about,  —  things 
that  we  could  n't  very  well  talk  about  to  out 
siders.  To  tell  the  truth,  the  rest  of  the  class 
for  a  time  seemed  like  outsiders  to  me.  They 
had  n't  been  through  what  we  had,  and  I  con 
fess  that  I  could  n't  help  looking  on  our  little 
crowd  as  something  apart  from  the  others  and, 
taken  all  in  all,  rather  extraordinary.  I  don't 
know  that  I  thought  this  in  so  many  words, 
but  I  did  feel  it ;  and  it  was  Berri  —  of  all 
persons  —  who  brought  me  back  to  earth  one 
day  with  a  jerk.  I  forget  just  what  I  said  to 
call  forth  his  remarks,  but  it  was  something 
in  the  nature  of  a  complaint  that  the  fellows 
at  the  table  did  n't  seem  to  have  as  much  time 
for  me,  so  to  speak,  as  they  once  had.  Berri 
puffed  at  his  pipe  for  a  while  and  stared  at 
the  ceiling,  and  finally  said,  — 

"  Of  course,  I  see  what  you  mean  ;  but  it 's 
not  them,  you  know  —  it 's  us." 

33* 


THE    DIARY   OF  A  FRESHMAN 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  think  — "  I  began 
defensively. 

"  No,  I  don't  believe  you  do  realize  the  true 
state  of  affairs,"  Berri  interrupted.  "  Lots 
of  fellows  would,  and  then  pretend  all  the 
time  that  they  did  n't ;  that 's  what  I  do. 
But  you  don't.  You  just  have  the  big-head 
from  pure  delight,  and  go  around  swelled  up 
like  a  hop  toad  without  in  the  least  knowing 
it.  Your  old  friends  know  it,  though,  and  it 
naturally  makes  them  a  dash  tired.  And  be 
sides,  what  do  you  expect  them  to  do,  any 
how?  Run  after  us?  Of  course  they  won't 
do  that.  In  the  first  place,  we  've  both  be 
come  rather  obnoxious  ;  I  don't  mind  it  in 
myself,  but  with  you  it 's  scarcely  in  character. 
And  in  the  second  place,  none  of  the  fellows 
at  our  table  are  swipes,  and  if  any  advances 
are  made,  well,  they  won't  make  them.  So 
there  you  are  !  " 

There  was  nothing  much  to  say  to  this,  be 
cause,  after  a  few  minutes  of  resentment,  I  felt 
all  over  that  it  was  perfectly  true.  I  did  n't 
say  anything,  but  you  bet  it  was  n't  more  than 
a  day  or  two  before  the  fellows  seemed  to  me 
just  the  way  they  always  had  seemed.  I  think 
I  had  a  pretty  close  call ;  I  might  have  turned 
into  a  Dick  Benton. 

333 


THE    DIARY   OF   A   FRESHMAN 

Three  days  before  Class  Day,  who  should 
blow  in  but  Duggie?  He  literally  did  blow 
in,  come  to  think  of  it,  as  he  crossed  from 
Cadiz  in  a  sailing-vessel  and  was  as  brown  as 
a  Spaniard.  He  brought  Mrs.  Chester  a  black 
lace  shawl,  and  told  her  that  if  she  'd  drape  it 
around  her  head  and  sit  at  her  upstairs  window 
some  evening,  he  'd  come  and  serenade  her. 
To  which  the  old  girl  responded  with  one 
of  her  roguish  little  digs  at  Duggie's  ribs, 
and  exclaimed,  - 

"  Land  sakes,  Mr.  Duggie,  you  can't  sing, 
and  never  could." 

Duggie  wanted  Berri  and  me  to  dine  with 
him  that  evening,  but  Herri's  last  examination 
was  to  come  the  next  morning  (I  had  finished 
all  of  mine)  and  he  could  n't.  I  did,  though, 
and  we  walked  out  to  Cambridge  afterwards 
in  the  moonlight.  He  told  me  all  about  his 
trip,  and  when  I  let  him  know  that  we  were 
going  abroad  for  the  summer  and  that  Berri 
was  going  over  with  us  to  join  his  mother  at 
Dinard,  he  said,  — 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  Berri  in  answer  to 
mine.  I  don't  often  keep  letters,  but  I  've 
kept  his.  I  suppose  you  know  I  did  n't  think 
much  of  Berri  at  first,  but  I  don't  mind  con 
fessing  that  I  sized  him  up  all  wrong." 

334 


THE   DIARY   OF   A   FRESHMAN 

It  was  such  a  beautiful  night  that  when  we 
got  to  our  gate,  it  seemed  like  wasting  some 
thing  to  go  in  the  house.  Berri  had  finished 
his  grind  and  was  leaning  out  of  my  window. 
He  said  that  his  brain  felt  like  a  dead  jelly 
fish  (I  think  that  was  the  pretty  simile),  and 
told  us  not  to  go  in,  as  he  would  put  on  his 
coat  and  come  down  to  us.  So  we  strolled,  all 
three,  over  to  the  Yard,  and  sat  on  the  steps 
in  front  of  one  of  the  Holworthy  entries.  It 
was  very  late,  but  the  finals  were  not  yet 
over,  and  the  yellow  of  many  windows  blurred 
through  the  trees.  The  long  quadrangle  was 
flecked  with  moonlight,  and  little  groups  like 
our  own  were  sitting  in  front  of  almost  every 
doorway.  The  Yard,  except  on  great  occa 
sions,  is  rarely  noisy,  and  that  night  it  seemed 
particularly  quiet,  —  a  kind  of  lull  before  the 
crash  of  Class  Day  and  Commencement. 

Duggie  and  Berri  and  I  sat  there  talking 
until  the  air  and  the  sky  had  changed  from 
summer  night  to  summer  morning.  Even  then 
a  few  of  the  windows  were  still  glowing. 

a) 

THE    END. 


335 


